


Sally's Baby

by acme146



Series: The Greatest Love Story Ever Told [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), The Princess Bride - William Goldman
Genre: Adventure, Brief Mention of Suicide, Coronations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Hates Jamiarty, Fluff, Found Family, Magic, Multi, Mystery, Non-Graphic Torture, Past Child Murder, Politics, Princess Bride AU, Weddings, abductions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-03-26 17:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 35,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13862772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acme146/pseuds/acme146
Summary: Our gang is safe in London, far from Prince Jamiarty's reach....or so they think.John and Sherlock might have their happy ending, but there's a lot of work to do before everyone else gets their happy endings. In fact, there will be an abduction, a chase, two falls, secrets, quests, breach of diplomatic immunity, some quests and the discovery of a murder most foul.And some kissing, because this is a kissing story.I don't make the rules.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the sequel! I'm super excited to finally post this (it took longer to write than I thought it would).  
> But I'll shush for now, because a long-awaited wedding is about to take place...

            “Sherlock, hurry up!”

            “Hurry up? John’s got ten minutes left to get ready.” Sherlock twisted around to look at Molly.

            “Yes, but you’ve got to be there first, remember?”

            “Right.” Sherlock put the last moonblossom in his hair and followed Molly to the garden.

            He didn’t want to be late to his second wedding.

            It was a clear day in London, with the slightest crisp edge to the breeze. Fall was on its way, and Sherlock wore a thicker cloak than he was used to. Luckily moonblossoms bloomed all the year, even as far north as London. When Sherlock had dreamed about his and John’s wedding long ago, for the couple of months they were in love and happy and John hadn’t been captured by pirates, there were always moonblossoms.

            The rest of it didn’t matter so much. Sure, they were on the run from one of the most powerful men on earth, and they were gearing up for a war with Florin, but…well, they had each other. And they had Mycroft and Molly and Grezzik and Stam, plus John’s grandparents and Princess Janine of Guilder…they would be fine.

            And right now they were getting married.

            Mycroft was already there, along with a lovely woman with dark hair and big dark eyes.

            “Ah, little brother.” Mycroft was dressed in ceremonial robes. “May I present Princess Janine of Guilder.”

            Sherlock curtsied. He was surprised that Molly didn’t; she didn’t even bow. She was staring at the Princess, eyes wide with shock.

            “I am Princess Sherlock of London. This is my…my friend? Are we friends, Molly?”

            Molly snapped out of her stupor. “Yes, of course. Hello, Janine.”

            Janine’s eyes were wide now. “Maria?”

            “I’ve earned back my name now,” Molly replied. She was trembling now. “It’s been a long time.”

            Princess Janine stepped forward and took Molly’s hand. “Well, Molly, you have your name again. Does that mean you have your justice?”

            “I do. And I…I’ve _missed_ you, Janine.” And Molly fell into her arms.

            Sherlock was befuddled. He glanced at Mycroft, hoping he would have answers, but Mycroft looked confused for the first time in his life.

            A moment later, Molly pulled away. “I’m sorry, this is your wedding day!”

            “Not at all,” Sherlock said, finding his voice. “I imagine the two of you met some time ago?”

            “I couldn’t stay,” Molly said. Her arm was around Janine’s waist still, and Janine was playing with her loose hair. “I had to find Count Magnussen.”

            “It was him?” Janine was shocked. “Damn it, I should have responded to his invitations. I could have helped you…”

            “My love, I found him in the end. And if you’ll have me, I would like to stay with you now.”

            Janine kissed her. “You’re welcome, as always.” She looked up and flushed. “Oh, your intended has come, Sherlock. We can speak later, Molly.”

            Sherlock turned around and forgot everything else.

            John was still pale, still unsteady on his feet. But sixteen hours of sleep and his grandparent’s healing techniques had given him some colour in his cheeks and he walked on his own. He smiled at Sherlock, a bouquet of moonblossoms in his hand, his grandparents and Grezzik behind him.

            Sherlock waited breathless, shaking, hoping that this was real, hoping this wasn’t another cruel dream. When John reached him, he reached out and grabbed hold of his hands, holding the bouquet between them. John smiled at him, eyes overbright, and passed his bouquet to Grezzik.

            Mycroft cleared his throat. “As Head Priest of London—”

            “Since when are you Head Priest?” Sherlock interrupted.

            “Ten months. There wasn’t much competition.”

            “I never took you for religious.”

            “I believe, Sherlock.” Mycroft’s face changed a bit, became more solemn. “I always have.”

            “Oh. Very well, then.”

            “As Head Priest of London, I ask the Powers to look upon these men. These men love each other, and stand here in your sight to pledge this love forevermore, to stand by each other and provide comfort and guidance through the trials and pleasures of life. I ask you to bless this union, and keep the faith between them strong.”

            “Sherlock, will you keep faith and love in your heart for John?”

            “I will.”

            “John, will you keep faith and love in your heart for Sherlock?”

            “I will.”

            “And do both of you promise to keep your union sacred, to work to stay together, and to keep your lives intertwined?”

            “We will.” They said that as one, and Sherlock beamed. Maybe John was right. Maybe they were done being apart forever. After all, they’d just promised.

            “Then I name your union complete in the eyes of man and the eyes of the Powers. Please seal your union with a kiss.”

            This kiss was actually better than the one in the carriage. It had promise and passion and permanence, and Sherlock didn’t ever want to stop.

            Molly had other ideas.

            “You are supposed to save some of this for the marriage bed, yes?”

            Sherlock backed off, placing one last kiss on his husband’s—his _husband’s_ —lips. “Oh, very well,” he huffed.

            John smiled at him. “Later, love,” he promised. “I believe we owe our friends a chance to have some cake.”

            Sherlock laughed. “You’re correct.” He swept John up in his arms, ignoring his husband’s indignant protests. “Which way to the cake, brother dear?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will update every other day, so stay tuned for more!  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	2. Here Comes Waverly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally's gone into labour, but childbirth isn't easy, and she's going to need all the help she can get. Meanwhile, Grezzik gets invaded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as some of you might have guessed, I'm pulling heavily from the first chapter of Buttercup's Baby (the only one published thus far). There's not a ton of material, but I will be incorporating all of it, in different ways. 
> 
> Warnings for non-graphic childbirth, I guess? And domestic abuse (in a flashback, not to any of the main characters).

            “Molly! I need your help!”

            Molly blinked awake. It was the middle of the night, and she was lying in Janine’s bed, their bodies pressed close together.

            The voice called again, and Molly recognized Martha’s voice. “Martha? It’s still dark.”

            “Sally’s gone into labour!”

            That got Molly out of bed. She grabbed for her clothes as Janine murmured sleepily. Her heart was in her throat; it was only spring. Sally should be having a summer baby.

            “How long?” she asked.

            “Sorry?”

            “How long?” Molly asked, enunciating. Her accent always got thicker when she was sleepy, though never so thick as Grezzik’s. “When did she realize she was in labour?”

            “No more than an hour,” Martha answered. “But the contractions are coming faster than I’d like.”

            Molly swore, and dashed after the old woman.

            Sally was laboring in her and Anderson’s quarters. Her husband was nowhere to be found, but Miracle Max was next to her, counting under his breath.

            “Hello Sally,” Molly said. She crawled onto the bed, taking Sally in her arms. “Your little one likes to be early, does he?”

            Sally was positive her child was going to be a boy, though no one actually knew for sure. She’d dreamed of a boy-child twice, and she and Anderson had already decided to name the baby Tom.

            “Where’s that fool husband of hers?” Max snarled. “At this rate the child will be blessed before its father comes!”

            Sally moaned, shuddering as another contraction went through her.

            “Be quiet, Max! One of the spies came back late, and Philip’s speaking with her!”

            Molly helped Sally brace against her, and winced as Sally gripped her arms.

            It was strange—six months ago, Molly would have predicted she’d be fighting a war right now, not helping deliver a child. After all, she’d participated in the kidnapping of Prince Jamiarty’s intended, and killed his best friend. True, the best friend had murdered her father twenty years before, and the Prince was going to kill Sherlock, but Jamiarty was never one to understand subtleties.

            Princess Janine was ready for war, as were their allies in Sanctaphrax, Regalia, and Archenland. Jamiarty was becoming more and more dangerous, and the sooner that problem was dealt with, the better. Of course, that was giving Jamiarty what he wanted, and none of them really wanted to fight, but it was the best solution.

            So when Lord Sebastian Moran came to the gates of London three days after their arrival, everyone was expecting a declaration of war. But Lord Moran had something different to offer.

            “I have heard that Princess Sherlock has taken a husband,” he said stiffly. “My congratulations.”

            “Thank you. I will not be returning.”

            “I do not expect you to do so. Nor does Prince Jamiarty. The Prince wishes you well, in fact.”

            That was definitely a lie, Molly could tell. But Moran did seem sincere about something.

            “We won’t pursue the Princess, but we do not want war, either. In the moment Princess Sherlock left, he may have become…confused…about the Prince’s intentions.”

            “Do you mean that Prince Jamiarty was going to kill the Princess and blame the murder on my country?”  Princess Janine asked. Her voice was so calm, but Molly could see the fury in her lover’s eyes.

            “That is not true,” Moran said doggedly. “Nor is it true that Princess Sherlock left the Prince after their marriage.”

            “I never said I do!” Sherlock snapped.

            “Only those in the chapel know that, and several of those people are now dead,” Moran answered.

            “And who are they going to believe?” Janine asked, her voice like silk. “A Prince that no one loves, or the word of several honourable men and women?”

            “You’re wrong about the first,” Moran said. “But there is no reason that people have to believe either story.”

            “Oh?”

            Moran held up a scroll. “Prince Jamiarty has drafted this royal announcement, that Princess Sherlock’s true love came back in the end, and the Prince let him go with blessings upon their love. He also discovered that the Princess was not kidnapped by warriors of Guilder, and that the kidnappers are all dead. He would like your approval.”

            Princess Janine took the scroll. “What do you think, my love?”

            Molly stood next to her and read the scroll. It was precisely as Moran had said.

“What does that mean for our countries’ relations?” Janine asked.

            “There will be no conflict from Florin.” Moran looked worried for a moment. “The Prince is not a fool, and he knows of your alliance with London and its allies. He would rather…not engage in conflict. Not in this way.”

            “Because he knows that if we tell people that he was trying to start a false war by murdering an innocent man?”

            “Yes.”

            “And we don’t want to start a civil war in Florin,” Molly pointed out. “Which might happen even if Jamiarty doesn’t go to war.”

            “Excellent point.” Janine drew her closer. “You’re incredibly useful, Lady Montoya.” She looked at Moran. “Officially, we accept this scroll as truth, and we will carry it as truth to our allies.” Then she beckoned Moran closer. “Mycroft, come here.”

            When they were all gathered, Janine looked Moran right in the eye. “And royalty to royalty, take back this message. We are willing to keep a truce for the sake of our people and the innocents in Florin, who have no role in this quarrel. But our royal person has been insulted and threatened, and our people are still in danger. We advise Prince Jamiarty that our allied leaders will know the truth of this exchange, and if there are any threats they will be informed and we will go to war. And if this should happen, expect it to be short, fierce, and unstoppable.”

            To his credit, Moran didn’t flinch. “I understand, Princess Janine. And both messages will be related. Should there be any further reason for…royalty-to-royalty communication, send a falcon.”

            “I will. Now, will you stay to rest?”

            “No, I will return by ship, your Highness.”

            “Then go. Fair winds, Lord Moran.”

            Moran bowed low. Molly saw him look at Stam once, open his mouth to say something, and then think better of it. He turned and left.

            “Fierce, short and unstoppable?” Molly asked when he was gone.

            “Rather like you and Prince John,” Janine said, a sly smile on her face.

            “Oi!”

            Of course, neither Mycroft nor Janine trusted Jamiarty as far as they could throw him. So they sent spies into Florin, both to the little villages and the larger cities. One person was at the castle, but that person, of course, wasn’t Anderson. The former spy’s cover had been blown when he left with Sally, and Mycroft refused to risk him when he had a child coming. Anderson still knew plenty about Florin though, so he planned each mission. Stam consulted with him, and went on some missions with darkened eyes, a hood and long gloves (priests were an excellent cover). Every time that a spy came back, Anderson would hear the report, no matter the time.

            Like right now, apparently, because he wasn’t here as his wife gave birth to his child.

            It wasn’t more than ten minutes later, though, that Anderson dashed in.

            “Sally! How are you?”

            “In a lot of pain, and kind of worried,” Sally gasped out. “I’m glad you’re here now, though.”

            Molly let Anderson take her place, and went to help Martha with the poultices.

            “Where’s John?” she asked as she started crushing herbs.

            “He’s out looking for feverfew,” Martha explained in a low voice. “She’s getting much hotter than I like.”

            John came in less than an hour later with a strong feverfew tea, and Sally drank it all. Her fever came down hard, leaving her weak and chilled, but that went away soon.

            Unfortunately, the child wasn’t born _soon_.

            When dawn came Sally was still laboring, and the contractions were no closer together. Martha wasn’t worried. “It’s your first, darling. This is normal. It took me twelve hours to birth John’s father. And that was with every tincture Max could give me.”

            But twelve hours and every tincture came and went too, and Sally was now pale and drained. Her whole body was drenched with sweat, but Anderson hadn’t let her go. He kept his arms around her, but he closed his eyes every time she groaned in pain.

            Sherlock had woken hours ago and was doing research in the London library while Molly and Janine tried to bathe Sally, to give her some kind of hold on herself, some hope that she wouldn’t always hurt so much. But at sunset, Sherlock came back empty-handed.

            _Where was Grezzik?_ But Molly knew. As excited as the giant was to see the new baby, he also had a weak stomach for the…other products of birth. And really, there wasn’t room for him here, and he couldn’t make much of a difference. He’d been taking lessons with Miracle Max too, but his strength wouldn’t help here.

            The only thing that might help was a miracle, and by that midnight, Miracle Max had run out of options to try. All he could do was try to ease Sally’s pain. But that turned out to be unnecessary.

            The first time Sally screamed, everyone jumped. She’d moaned and whimpered, but this was the first raw, broken cry. And it wasn’t because of pain.

            “I can’t feel my arms,” she whispered. “I can’t feel them, I can’t lift them!”

            And it got worse. The powerful numbness spread to her torso, at least stopping the pain, but then it was in her legs. By dawn, Sally was barely breathing, and Anderson’s sobs couldn’t be muffled.

            When the sun came up, Molly took one look at Sally’s still face and knew. “She’s dead.”

            Anderson shook his head, but he couldn’t seem to cry anymore. “No…no…”

            **“She is not dead yet.”**

Everyone looked towards the door. Grezzik stood there, a steaming sword in his hand.

            “Grezzik?”

            **“The child is stuck. The cord is around her neck. We must cut the woman to save them both.”**

“What?!” That put some fire back in Anderson’s eyes. “You try that and I’ll—”

            **“There is no time. The child will die and your wife is nearly there. Move, and you will have a living wife and daughter.”**

Miracle Max moved to stop him, but Molly grabbed him. “No, Max. Let him.”

            Molly recognized an Invasion when she saw one.

            It had been seven years since the last time, but she’d never forgotten. She was in America, and she’d just beaten the local wizard. She was relaxing at the tavern, refusing ale (oh, the time before alcohol) but happily drinking the sweet raspberry juice the barmaid offered her.

            The barmaid was shorter than Molly, and she said she was sixteen, seven years younger. But Molly wouldn’t have believed that, for the girl had the face of a woman old with suffering. When the stablemaster came in and shoved her aside, knocking her to the ground, she knew why.

            Molly had her hand around her sword handle in a second, but the girl picked herself up. “Good to see you, husband.”

            Husband?

            The man grunted and demanded beer.

            “Put it away, lass.” Molly looked over to see an older woman, shaking her head. “There’s no good in that.”

            “She can’t be treated that way!”

            “And you’ll be put up for murder. I see it in your eyes, girl. It won’t help her—he’s got seven brothers, all worse than him. She knows she’s lucky right now.”

            Molly shook her head, but she let go of her sword. She stayed in the tavern all night, watching the poor girl scuttle around, trying to avoid her husband.

            And then Molly saw the girl change.

            “Darling,” she called out, loud as anything, “why don’t you go and fetch your brothers? We should have a family party.”

            Molly’s eyes went wide, almost as much as the girl’s husband. But he turned and walked out without a word.

            Molly looked at the old woman. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration for a second, and then she looked calm again. The girl stood there, her arms akimbo, her face fierce.

            “What have you done?” Molly asked, troubled.

            The old woman smiled. “You, dear, have your own weapons. You will find your truth one day, and your justice. This one needs help, but she must do it on her own.”

            Molly’s skin prickled. “What is it?”

            “It has a lot of names. Some call it Truth-Tongue. Others call it angels. I? Well, I call it Invasion.” The woman tucked her long black braids behind her ears.

            “What will happen?”

            “Stay and see.” The woman put a coin down by her plate and got up to leave.

            The next morning Molly was one of the witnesses for the Sherriff. They all told the same story: the barmaid, Waverly, had screamed at her husband and his seven brothers, calling them out for their foul deeds against woman and man alike. She then placed a curse on each and every one, so that if they tried to hurt anyone, they would feel the injury upon themselves. The husband had tried to grab his wife and throw her to the ground, but Waverly remained in place, and the man fell, dashing his own brains against the ground. The brothers fled, howling, into the night.

            A few years later, Molly returned to that town. Waverly had a new husband, a newly-man named Tristan, and a baby at her breast. When Molly asked about the woman that night, Waverly shrugged. “I didn’t notice her, sorry. And we don’t have many Natives living around here, and none fit that description.”

            “And the men?”

            Waverly flushed. “I didn’t really curse them. The curse wasn’t a real one, and I’ve no magic. But for a minute I…I felt like I did, and it made me brave. And when he stumbled and fell…well. I was free. I didn’t really care how it happened.”

            Molly never found the woman, no matter how long she looked. She left America after, but she kept her ears open thereafter, waiting for more stories of Invasion. A few came, and the elements were always the same: it was done for a person in desperate need of help, it was done by magic, and it was only done when intentions were pure.

            That’s why she got out of the way, as much as Grezzik’s blank eyes unnerved her, and motioned for the others to do the same.

            She helped hold Anderson back as Grezzik cut into Sally with an expert touch, laid the blade aside, and pulled out a child, covered in blood and other things that made Anderson turn pale. There was a cord around the baby’s neck, and Grezzik pulled it free, tapping gently on the baby’s back. The baby—a girl, it was a girl—let out a wail.

            Then everyone sprang into action. Martha took the baby from Grezzik and began to wash her down, and Max and John began to sew Sally up. Sally had awakened, somehow, but she didn’t seem to be in pain. She held Anderson’s hand weakly. “Our son?” she rasped.

            “Your daughter,” Martha replied. “Well, born one, anyways.” And she helped Sally sit up just enough to lay the baby on her chest. “She’s healthy, and you’ll recover, my dear.”

            “ **You won’t have other children.”** That was Grezzik again, his eyes still blank. **“I am sorry. The operation in these conditions…”**

            “That’s alright,” Sally whispered. “I have my daughter, and I thank you for it.” She kissed the baby’s head. “Although I don’t know what to call her.”

            “Waverly,” Molly suggested.

            Anderson smiled at her. “I like that. It’s pretty.”

            “Waverly,” Sally crooned. Her eyes were drifting shut again, and Molly could tell this time it was because she was going to sleep. “Our Waverly.”

            Grezzik swayed, and Molly stood, alarmed, but the next second the giant was blinking. “Molly?” he asked. Gone was the confidence of the moment before; now he was childlike in his confusion. “Did she help?”

            “Yes. Sally’s safe. You did it, my friend.” Molly patted his arm. “Wait, she?”

            “Yes. The…the presence…it was female. She promised she would help.”

            “Alright.” That matched the stories too. “My friend, you did right.”

            And Molly sent up a quiet thank you to the witch who’d reached out through Grezzik and saved the little girl who somehow felt like her child, the child she wanted to raise and teach and _love._

            And that afternoon, after Sally had slept, when she asked Grezzik and Molly to be Waverly’s Caretakers, Molly promised with every fibre of her being.

            She didn’t know it would only be a couple of months before that promise was tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, little Waverly's born!   
> I sure hope nothing bad happens because of that.   
> :)   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	3. A Craven Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Jamiarty has received some news, and he's delighted. Now he has a plan...  
> But so does Riley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Text in bold is my voice, speaking to you all. Kinda like what William Goldman does in the book. It is a faster way of doing exposition (and let's face it, I can just tell you what you need to know about Florin's gender politics, and then we can move on).

            The beggar-woman limped up the palace steps. She ignored the guards who tried to help her, drawing her bundle of rags to her chest and glaring at any who were more persistent. When she got to the Prince’s door, she walked right past the lords and slammed the bundle on the Prince’s desk.

            Jamiarty smiled up at her. “How’s it going, Riley?” He looked around. “Do we need the whole council?”

            “Yes. Sally’s given birth.”

            Jamiarty’s eyes widened. “Hope, get Moran. We have much to discuss.”

            **Those of you who read the first story might be saying, “hey, there was no council in the first story. Is the King dead? WHAT IS HAPPENING?”**

**Chill out.**

**Here’s some ‘omniscient-author’ knowledge. (The gang in London isn’t aware of any of this, just so you know). After the debacle with Princess Sherlock, the lords loyal to Prince Jamiarty had a little talk with their friend. They were behind him a hundred percent, they all promised, but maybe he should have a wider circle of trusted people. Especially after Magnussen’s unfortunate demise. Jamiarty agreed for two reasons: 1) he did want to have more flunkies around, evil plans were no fun if you had no one to talk about them with and 2) he realized he fucked up. Unfortunately for the world, Jamiarty learns from his mistakes, and he knew this one was a big one. So Moran was his new ‘best friend’, and everyone else became ‘trusted advisors’. And don’t worry, the King is still alive. However, he and the Queen have gone to their summer home at the request of their ‘beloved son, who was worried about their health’.**

**Yes, there are a lot of ‘’ in this author’s note. That’s because Prince Jamiarty lies a lot, and makes up terms for things that he keeps to himself. He’s a weird dude.**

**Also, yes, the King only got two years to live, three years ago. That’s part of why Miracle Max got fired. In his defense, the King started eating actual fruit, which extended his lifespan by just a little bit. There are other factors, but we’ll get to those later.**

By the time the Council had convened, Riley had changed her clothes back into her Guard uniform. Her face was often cited as ‘too pretty to be a guard’, but those who spoke to her knew that the pretty face concealed a poison tongue. No one wanted to be on Riley’s bad side, so everyone tried to be friends with her.

            Except for Jamiarty. He was genuinely friends with her (though not ‘best-friends’), because they understood each other well. Riley didn’t pretend with Jamiarty, Jamiarty didn’t pretend with her, and they hunted together.

            That’s why he was genuinely sympathetic when the lords were all in. “Do you want me to explain, Ri?” he asked. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

            Riley shook her head. “They’ll know anyways. May as well let them know where I stand.”

            “Alright.” Jamiarty kissed her hand. “We’ll punish him, dear. Don’t you worry.”

            Riley just nodded. She had her own plans for Anderson.

            You see, while Anderson had been a spy, he knew that Riley and Jamiarty were buddy-buddy. So he’d developed a friendship with her, which developed into a romance by Riley’s choice. Anderson had gone along with it, partly because it gave him good information for Duke Mycroft, and partly because it provided cover for his relationship with Sally.

            Unfortunately, Anderson wasn’t the brightest when it came to women. Not only did he not realize that Sally was _pregnant_ ( **and her morning sickness was bad, my dudes, _bad_** ), but he failed to realize that Riley was very much in love with him. Well, as in love as she could be. And when Anderson ran off with Sally, and Riley found out that the Carrier was carrying Anderson’s child…well. Hell hath no fury, and all that.

            “Lords and Ladies.” Prince Jamiarty smiled with all his teeth. “Riley’s done it again, and this time she’s discovered something actionable.”

            Lady Hope laughed. “Congrats, Riley.” He took a long drink of his foul-smelling tonic. “What have you found?”

            “Sally of the House Donovan has given birth.”

            The tonic went spraying over the room.

            “Damn it, Jefferson!” Lord Gruner snarled. “Get that foul-smelling—” Then it hit him too. “Jamiarty? Are you a father?”

            “Not I.” Jamiarty shook his head. “I didn’t want to fuck her. No, Anderson—the spy guard—he knocked her up. And the child has been born, a healthy baby girl.”

            “So why does that matter, exactly?” Gruner asked, disappointed. “Could you claim paternity?”

            “No, I don’t want to do that. My plan’s a lot more simple.”

            “Which is what?”

            “House Donovan has been the Royal Carriers for generations. But they are not a house in a way that Gruner is. They are Crown property, one and all, and the child Sally delivered counts. Anderson stole two things from me, and I want them back.”

            “Will that get you in the door in London?” Lady Culverton asked. She was the coolest head on the Council. “I don’t believe Duke Mycroft approves of slavery.”

            “It’s not slavery, it’s property,” Lord Woodley argued.

            “But will the Duke see that? Will Princess Janine see that?”

            “More to the point,” Lord Moran said loudly over the bickering, “how do we say we found out about the baby?” He turned to Riley. “Is the news public in London?”

            “I stayed for five days after the baby was born.” Riley’s jaw clenched for the barest of seconds. “There was no Announcement.”

            “Then they must know that the child is illegal.”

            “Or that they don’t want attention.” Riley’s jaw clenched and it stayed clenched this time. “Anderson never liked people looking at him.”

            “Course he didn’t, he’s a fucking spy!”

            “Yeah, but—”

            “The point is,” Jamiarty cut in, “that there has been no birth announcement within London, which means it’s unlikely that they’d send anything to Florin.”

            **Some countries who were better friends than Florin and…well, anyone, would send messages to each other about births, marriages and deaths. Even Florin did it before Jamiarty came of age. It spread the gossip super wide, and people were super excited to hear the other country’s news.**

**There wasn’t a ton going on in those days.**

“So we need a way for you to find out about the child, so you can officially demand the baby.”

            “Well, I don’t exactly want the baby. I want to demand the baby, them to refuse, and then we invade.” Jamiarty cocked his head. “But I take your point. Moran, how long has it been since you were there?”

            “Just over nine months, Jim.”

            “Good. I want you to go and renew the treaty. Make up whatever you like, just get in the door. In fact, you should agree to whatever they say. While you’re talking, get Riley into the castle. She can search for the baby, and lead you to it.”

            “Do I bring it back?”

            “I don’t think they’ll let that happen,” Jamiarty mused. “No, I think it might be best to keep that a secret. Just comment on how lovely the baby is and leave. Then I can send a message expressing my shock and disbelief at your report.” He looked at Riley. “You can control yourself, right?”

            “Of course, Jim.” And of course Riley could. She’d controlled herself the night the child was born, hadn’t she? She’d swallowed her hurt and her pride and let the child be born, even when she could have done nothing. Could have let her die.

            But she’d known better. Known that letting Anderson love his daughter, know her as a tiny person, would make it so much worse for him when she finally did take the child.

            So Riley would continue to control herself. She would (and could) keep calm and fulfill her mission with Moran.

            And then she would take Waverly. Then she would take the child far away, with or without Jim’s permission.

            Jim might be her friend, but he wasn’t a woman. He couldn’t understand. So she just wouldn’t tell him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh...  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	4. Pillow Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's worried about an upcoming visit from the past. John tries to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this conversation takes place both post- and pre-sex, but that is not the focus of the chapter. Just wanted to give a heads up.

“Why is he coming?!”   
John sighed. “Love, if you say that again, I might have to gag you.”   
They were in bed together, sated and happy. Or at least, John was sated and happy. He had his husband, they had fantastic sex, they had friends and family. Little Waverly had recovered quickly from her difficult birth, and she was the happiest baby John had ever seen. Sally was still recovering herself, and she and Anderson spent many days in the gardens, playing with their little daughter.   
Sherlock, on the other hand, wouldn’t stop griping about the message they’d received, announcing Lord Moran’s visit. And it was killing John’s afterglow.   
“But honestly…”  
“Honestly, love, I’m not sure what the problem is. You know we’re all safe, you know that we have the upper hand…”  
Sherlock didn’t answer, and John sighed, stretching out just enough to light the candle. One look at Sherlock’s worried face, and his annoyance fell away. “Sher? Darling?”   
Sherlock buried his face in John’s chest. “I won’t go with him, John. I won’t.”   
“Oh. Oh, Sherlock.” John held him as tightly as he could, and silently cursed as his husband shook in his hold. “Darling, I won’t let him take you.”  
“What if—what if that’s what it takes, for peace?”   
“Then we’ll go to war,” John said firmly. “And if no one else wants to, I will. Like Hell they’ll stop me.”   
“I don’t want to marry him, John.”   
“You’re my husband, he can’t marry you.”   
“I don’t know if I’m brave enough.” Sherlock had his face buried in John’s chest now, but John still heard him.   
“What was that?”   
“I don’t know if I’m brave enough.”   
“To fight? Darling, you won’t have to fight if you don’t want to.”   
“No, John. I’m worried I won’t be brave enough to lose you again.”   
John winced. Running the Revenge away from Florin when he’d heard of Sherlock’s engagement had been the worst decision he’d ever made.   
“You won’t lose me. I always come for you.”   
“But if—if he says that—if he had you, and he told me if I came back you could live…I don’t know if I’m brave enough to say no.”   
“Sherlock.” John cursed every time he’d been annoyed that day. “I don’t know if anyone’s brave enough for that.”   
“Really?”   
“Sherlock, we both know what it’s like to live apart from each other. But you…you’ve lived with the knowledge of my death, once unfairly and once…well.”   
Sherlock groaned.   
“Sher, I do not want to leave you. And I don’t want to tell you what to do, either. I think we’ve got to put our faith in the Powers and each other, and hope it doesn’t come to that.”   
“And if it does?”   
“I don’t know,” John whispered. “I truly don’t. But if you promise to believe that I will rescue you…”   
“I will do the same for you,” Sherlock interrupted. “Jamiarty had me fooled last time. He won’t again.”   
“Then it’s a promise. We keep each other alive, and we will always look for a way to be together. Sound alright?”   
“Perfect.” Sherlock nestled against him, but John could still feel stress radiating off him.   
Well that, he knew how to fix.   
“Speaking of coming…”   
“Ah. Yes, I suppose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord Moran and his companion arrive on Sunday, and they've got plans for our happy little family.   
> Will they succeed?   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	5. A Thief's Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moran and Riley have come to London. Two will leave, but it won't be the original two...

            Janine tapped her fingers together. “Why must we renew our treaty so soon, Lord Moran? Has something changed?”

            She sat with Molly and Mycroft in the throne room. Lord Moran seemed less nervous this time, but there was still stress in his face. If Stam were here, he might be able to understand his cousin better, but Stam refused to stand in his cousin’s presence. Whether it was to hide his grief or avoid temptation to return with him, Janine wasn’t quite sure. Stam had been quiet these last few months about his cousin, but he didn’t seem to have any other family.

            “Prince Jamiarty would like to propose a two-year renewal of the treaty, rather than a one-year.”

            “And that couldn’t wait another three months? We have kept the treaty thus far.”

            “Yes, but the council of Florin expects to be busy soon. Prince Jamiarty needs to…er…to reopen negotiations for a wedding. The King is still ill, and it would be best for the Prince to be married before the King passes.”

            “Do not look for a marriage contract here,” Mycroft warned. “Nor among our allies.”

            “Of course not.” Lord Moran looked faintly horrified by the notion. “Now, your Highness, your Grace, will you agree?”

            “With the understanding that, should the treaty be broken, repercussions will follow swiftly,” Janine answered. She didn’t like this at all—something was wrong.

            She was right, but there was nothing wrong with the document Moran extended to her. It was all legal, all binding. But Jamiarty knew how careful the Princess of Gondor and the Duke of London were about contracts. So he’d written it extra long, plenty of time for Riley to sneak from the boat into the castle behind Moran, and begin her search for the baby.

* * *

 

            Sally was napping, and Grezzik had taken Waverly out to the gardens. The little girl loved being outside. Grezzik would sit with her in the middle of the grass and listen to her babble intently. He’d talk to her sometimes too, because she was an excellent listener, all big eyes and curls. He would tell her stories about his parents, about the beautiful places he’d seen on his travels, and even his worries about his place in London.

            It was different for the others. Molly had Janine now, and of course the Princess had his husband. Grezzik didn’t need that kind of happiness (though it would be nice), but he was starting to feel dissatisfied. He didn’t have to fight anymore, which was nice, and his friends were here, and that was nice too. But he was starting to feel useless. Really, what had he done since coming here?

            Waverly squirmed in his hold, and Grezzik let her down. Yes, he’d saved Sally, and he had this precious little child to care for. Ever since her birth, he seemed to know how Waverly was feeling and what she was doing all the time. He couldn’t always help her (he’d cried for an hour when she got a fever), but he could understand her, and sometimes that was all she needed to calm down.

            Waverly was peering, fascinated, at a line of ants on the ground. She babbled and pointed at them.

            “Yes, they are very small,” Grezzik agreed. “But they each have a purpose, and they work together to do amazing things.” He sighed.

            Then Waverly screamed. Grezzik bent forward immediately, worried that they might be the kind of ants that bite. To his horror, he saw that the ants were catching fire one by one, all down the line.

            He snatched Waverly up into his arms, nearly hidden in his hold. She was safe now. And he looked around, trying to find the source of the fire.

            The line of fire grew, and Grezzik watched it stop at the feet of an unfamiliar statue. The statue moved, and it was a living woman who stepped forward along the line.

            _Magic._ But not the kind that Max did, where he coaxed plants and medicine to their fullest potential. No, this was the kind that scraped at bones and souls, the kind that was drawn from deep caves and high mountains.

            Grezzik opened his mouth to cry out, but nothing happened. There was no sound. He could still feel Waverly in his arms, and he knew she should be screaming too, could feel her little body straining with the force of her cries. But he couldn’t hear her.

            “ _Give me the child.”_ The woman’s voice was as terrible as her face was beautiful.

            Grezzik shook his head and took a step back.

            The line of fire blazed up, and the woman began to walk through it.

            Grezzik made to run, but now the fire was behind him. Waverly was struggling in his arms.

            Now the woman was in front of him. “ _Give me the child.”_

Grezzik shook his head again. There was fire on all sides now, and he wanted to scream with hopelessness. He wasn’t afraid of the pain of burns, but Waverly…could she survive that?

            The woman made the decision for him.

            Fire blazed up his body, and the pain made him flinch, just enough for a powerful wind to sweep Waverly right out of his arm and to the woman. Waverly was crying, clearly trying to scream, her little arms stretching out for him.

            Grezzik fought the pain of the burns, but the woman—a witch, she must be a witch—raised her hand, and the fire vanished. She was suddenly airborne, high above Grezzik, high above the castle.

            “ _Do not follow, giant.”_ And the woman disappeared.

            Grezzik fell to his knees. The burns on his arms and legs were bad, but nothing compared to the agony in his heart.

            Finally, he could scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear oh dear! What could possibly happen next?  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	6. Rescue Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly is gone, and her family races to save her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes! I've had no power for the last two hours, I sprinted to my computer to post this, hopefully it can stay on for like five more seconds.

            There were no cries of outrage at the meeting. There were no recriminations, no vows of vengeance, no dashing about. Everyone sat still and quiet.

            Somehow, that was worse.

            The only sounds were Sally’s quiet sobs. Sally, who still couldn’t lift her child easily, who was still taking painkilling tea every few hours, who’d spent her whole life believing any child she would bear would belong to someone else, was crying, bent nearly double in a chair. Unlike the night of Waverly’s birth, Anderson wasn’t crying. He sat beside his wife, both her hands in his, and stared straight ahead, staring at nothing.

            Lord Moran wasn’t speaking either. Then again, it was difficult to speak when one had a gag in their mouth. He was tied to a chair in the middle of the room. No one was looking at him, and he wasn’t protesting the circumstances.

            That was the only reason Molly hadn’t stabbed him yet.

            They were all waiting for Mycroft to return, and when he did a shudder ran through them all. He’d only been gone ten minutes. That wasn’t a good sign.

            It wasn’t really Mycroft, Sherlock’s older brother, general stick-in-the-mud and awkward dinner conversationalist that came in, though. This was the Duke of London, and one of his people—his youngest subject, in fact—had been taken. He was furious.

             “There’s been no further sightings of the witch,” the Duke announced. “The only person who saw her besides Grezzik was one of the dockhands. She flew in, took a boat, and left.”

            “Why didn’t she just fly wherever she was going?” Molly asked.

            “It’s impossible to sustain levitation for more than ten minutes,” Miracle Max said. He looked like he’d aged twenty years since Grezzik had run in, burned and screaming. “She would have needed transportation.”

            “If she took a boat, we need to go!” Molly was on her feet.

            “We need to figure out where she’s going first.” Mycroft ripped the gag from Moran’s mouth. “Well?”

            Lord Moran shook his head. “I had no fucking idea she was a witch. This wasn’t the plan—”

            “Who is she?”

            “Her name is Riley. She’s Jamiarty’s closest friend.”

            A groan came from Anderson. “No, oh _no_ …”

            “Who is she?”

Molly shuddered. Sally’s voice grated against her ears with rage and pain.

            “Riley is one of Jamiarty’s guards. She and I…we were friends. I led her to believe we were more.”

            “Did you fuck her?” Sally asked.

            Anderson bowed his head. “Before we were together, Sally. I was a spy, I needed information. And she was always so cold about it. We spent a lot of time together, but she always refused romance and…and kindness. She just wanted to talk and fuck.”

            “Maybe she lied to you, like you were lying to her.” Sally’s tears were drying. “She took our daughter, Philip, obviously she was lying!” Her voice was rising into a scream.

            “This will not help,” Mycroft snapped. He turned back to Moran. “Tell me what the plan was.”

            Molly listened as Moran outlined the plan, to use Waverly to start a war, and felt absolutely sick to her stomach. “Fucking monsters,” she snarled. “She’s an infant.”

            “Jamiarty doesn’t give a fuck about that sort of thing,” Sherlock muttered. His face was pale. “We shouldn’t have come here.”

            “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re going to get Waverly back, and then we’re going to destroy Jamiarty.” Janine’s voice was the coldest Molly had ever heard. “And you don’t know anything about her powers, Moran?”

            “That I can swear to. And none of the Inner Council know either. If Jamiarty had known she could…well, do all that…”

            “None of this politeness would be necessary, would it?” Molly stood. “What can we do? What do we know about witches?”

            “Where is she going?”

            “Is…” John stopped, but it was the question on everyone’s mind. If Riley hated Anderson, if she could defy Jamiarty…was the child alive?

            “Waverly is alright.”

            It was Grezzik’s quiet voice that broke the silence. The giant was still trembling, but his voice was confident. “She is frightened, but alive. The woman hasn’t hurt her.”

            Sally sobbed again, and Anderson’s eyes filled with tears.

            “Can you tell where she is, Grezzik?” Miracle Max asked.

            “She’s getting further away,” Grezzik said. He closed his eyes, concentrating. “I don’t know if I could track her, though.”

            “We have to find her!”

            “Where would she go?” Mycroft asked Moran.

            Moran shrugged.

            “If you need persuading…” Molly started to snarl.

            “No! I’m not—I have no idea where she would go. I didn’t know about her relationship with the spy. Jamiarty must have.”

            “He definitely would have.” Sherlock was on his feet now, pacing. “If he called her a friend, that meant she actually spoke with him in confidence. Which means that even if this wasn’t the plan, he won’t be shocked. He’ll just go after her, hunt her down with the child.”

            “And he can track better than anyone I’ve ever known,” Moran added. “She’d know that too, they hunted together.”

            “We can’t ask Jamiarty for help!” John snapped. “We have no ground, and if we let him know that we know his plan, he’ll go to war anyways. His advantage is gone.”

            “We don’t need to ask him.” Sherlock was pacing quicker now. “We need to think like Riley.”

            He turned and went running down the hall. Molly stood to go after him, but Janine restrained her. “Just a minute. I think I know what he’s getting.”

            Sure enough, Sherlock returned a moment later, clutching a large map. He spread it out on the table, John moving to his side to hold down the corners.

            “So you haven’t…you don’t want to kill the child you have. Or you would have done it quicker.” Sherlock’s voice faltered, but he pressed on. “And you don’t want the child held for ransom either, or you would be bringing it to your friend. No, you want to keep the child alive and with you. And you’re aware of how old the child is, or nearly. Babies that age can’t go for very long without provisions.”

            “Could she have brought any?”

            “She brought a small sack.” Moran sighed. “But it was really quite small, perhaps large enough to hold an apple? I don’t believe that would be helpful.”

            “It could have been a Bag of Holding,” Max mused.

            “Not a chance, the way Jamiarty pays his guards,” Anderson argued.

            “So she didn’t bring much,” Sherlock continued, ignoring the commentary. “So Riley’s got to get Waverly far away enough from here that neither Jamiarty nor us could find her, and find sanctuary. But look—to the west of London lies Florin, to the North Archenland. If she knows our allies, and I imagine she does?” He looked towards Moran, who nodded. “Then she knows not to take either route. That leaves across the Channel.”

            “Which leads to Guilder.” Janine’s eyes were fiery. “She can’t imagine she could hide there either.”

            “She doesn’t have to,” Sherlock snapped. “Across the Channel lies a very important place indeed—the Cliffs of Insanity.”

            Molly drew in a breath. “And it doesn’t just lead to Guilder.”

            The most direct route once you’d summitted the Cliff was indeed through a sort of no-man’s-land to Gondor. But there was another route, one she knew well, because that was going to be their escape after the Princess—after Sherlock—had been killed.

            “The Slope,” she said.

            **The Slope was poorly named. You could only see it as such if you tilted your head so your cheek was against your shoulder. Only then could you see it as anything like a gently sloping hill. It was nearly sheer, escaping the name of cliff only because of its lack of rocks. It was pure green grass, with some pretty flowers, and no one had ever walked directly down it. The people of France loved it, because what better defense than to be able to see your enemies cursing and tumbling down for miles around? Ireni’s plan for getting down gracefully involved a sled designed to move on grass, with Grezzik controlling the speed.**

“Exactly!” Sherlock tapped it on the map. “If she can get up the Cliffs and down there, she’s in France.”

            “And France is allied to neither side,” John said. “Which means she can settle in and they won’t ask questions.”

            **Some of you may be asking, isn’t that Switzerland’s role, to be neutral and a safe haven for both sides? There is no Switzerland in this world. And this isn’t precisely the France you know, either. But there is a Marseille, a Paris, and Paris has a very tall tower. On with the story.**

“So we need to stop her before she gets there!” Molly cried. “But what if she’s there by magic?”

            “She could get up the Cliffs by magic,” Miracle Max said. “We’ve already seen that she can fly. But teleportation…no. That’s not possible solo. You need a team of witches to do that.”

            “Are you sure?” Sally asked.

            “Positive. But that still doesn’t help us; the Cliff’s aren’t that far from here by boat.”

            “Grezzik can get there fast, can’t you?” Sherlock asked.

            Molly watched Grezzik think that through. “How can I go? The winds aren’t favorable.”

            “Not by sailboat,” John agreed. He seemed to understand what his husband was getting at. “But rowboat. Think, Grezzik. Were you tired when you climbed the Cliffs of Insanity?”

            “No.”

            “I was. Bloody exhausted. Why weren’t you?”

            Grezzik was silent for a minute. “My arms,” he said quietly. “They’ve never failed me.”

            Molly knew that was true. She’d seen Grezzik collapse after days of walking, slump forward, and continue the walk on his hands, holding the balance perfectly.

            “Take a rowboat,” Sherlock said. “And take—Molly, you’re the lightest of us all.”

            “Are you sure?” Molly asked. Sherlock was healthier now, but he still was far too thin for her (and John’s) liking.

            “Positive. Not by much.” Sherlock glared at Moran. “We’ll sort out this end.”

            “What can we do against her magic?” Grezzik asked. “I was powerless before.”

            Sherlock paused. “I don’t…I don’t know.”

            That was the first time Molly had ever heard him say that.

            “Take this.”

            It was Mycroft who said it. He took off the heavy chain that marked him as High Priest, and gave it to Grezzik. “It holds the blessing of the Powers. You will be protected.”

            “What about Molly?” Janine snapped.

            “I can protect Molly,” Grezzik promised.

            “And Molly can protect Molly,” Molly snapped. She stood. “We’ll go, and we’ll bring Waverly back.”

            Sally choked back a sob as Molly embraced Janine.

            “Please be careful, my darling,” Janine whispered.

            “I will. We’ll all be home, and we can sort out all this mess.” Molly squeezed her lover one last time, smiled at Sally and Anderson encouragingly, and turned to Grezzik.

            Grezzik picked her up and slung her on his back. “We’re going to run,” he warned her, and took off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Grezzik and Molly make it in time?   
> (I mean if you've read my stuff so far you know I wouldn't hurt a wee smol...grownups, on the other hand, are very much fair game).   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	7. Over the Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grezzik and Molly are after the witch. And on the Cliffs of Insanity, Grezzik makes a decision.

            They made it down to the dock faster than Grezzik expected, and they were in a rowboat before the dockmaster could ask what was going on.

            Molly had clambered off his back and sat curled in a ball in the front of the boat. She knew to keep out of the way when he was getting himself sorted. He was always clumsy when he first got into a boat.

            Grezzik slipped the oars into the water, yanked the rope from the dock (and part of the pole, but that couldn’t be helped), and they were off.

            Miracle Max’s salve had dealt with a lot of the burns, and the pain was nothing. The effort of moving the oars was nothing. All that mattered now was getting to Waverly, who was getting further away.

            Grezzik sank into a sort of trance as he concentrated on his bond with the baby girl. Waverly was confused and frightened. She wanted Mama and Papa. She still couldn’t form words, even in her thoughts, but he could feel their faces.

            Grezzik wasn’t smart enough to understand how he and Waverly were so connected. He didn’t even remember the night of her birth; only the scar on Sally’s stomach and Waverly herself were proof that anything had happened at all. Something must have happened when he saved her life, something…could it be magic?

            He hadn’t wanted to ask about it, worried that he was making it all up. But he _knew_ things about Waverly, knew more about her than her parents. And right now he knew that as scared as she was, she wasn’t hurt. Whatever this Riley woman was doing, she didn’t want to hurt the child.

            “You need to head more to the left,” Molly said.

            Grezzik snapped out of it, and looked behind him. Molly was right. The Cliffs were beginning to loom in the distance, over his left shoulder. He grunted and turned the boat.

            “Can I speak to you, my friend?” Molly asked. “I know you need your strength for your arms, not your words, but can I speak to you?”

            Another grunt, one of Grezzik’s most polite. He knew that Molly was never good when she had to be still, when all they could do was wait to get to the problem. He also knew that was to be expected, after twenty years of waiting to find the right man to kill. He could row and listen at the same time.

            “The rope will not be there when we get to the Cliffs,” Molly said. She was almost shouting over the noise of the waves. “But you are strong, and you can climb it, can’t you?”

            Grezzik grunted.

            “I’ll have to hang on. Unless you think I should wait in the boat?”

            Grezzik grunted.

            “Yes, no good,” Molly agreed. “I’ll be useless there. Very well, I will hang on. And when we get to the top, if you can hold the magic I will use my sword.”

            Molly’s voice sounded dangerously like her old self, like Maria, whose tongue was sharper than her sword, who sometimes even snapped at him. But Grezzik wasn’t afraid this time. He knew how much Molly loved Waverly too.

            Then there was silence for a few minutes, and Grezzik’s heart leapt. They were gaining on Waverly and Riley, he could feel it. They were closer, and when he risked a quick look back over his shoulder, the Cliffs were close indeed. He could make out the bones on the shore, just white blotches at this distance.

            Molly cried out. “Grezzik! I see them!”

            Grezzik craned his neck, and his blood went cold even as he continued to row.

            There was a black blotch, about a quarter of the way up the Cliffs. It was rising slowly. It almost looked like it was climbing, but Grezzik couldn’t see any arm movement.

            The witch was flying.

            Grezzik took a deep breath, cleared his thoughts, his mind, his body, and pushed all of his energy into his mighty arms and _rowed._

He didn’t stop until they crashed into the shore.

            He leapt out of the boat, his clumsiness gone, and waited just long enough for Molly to grab onto his back. He _attacked_ the Cliff, finding footholds and handholds where there weren’t really any, certainly not big enough for his hands, but they were there…

            And now the witch was only a hundred feet above them. She was looking down at them and Grezzik took one second to see the bundle in her arms.

            “ _GO AWAY.”_

            The woman’s voice was horrible, and Grezzik could hear Waverly crying. But he didn’t have breath for shouting, only for climbing. So he returned his attention to the wall.

“Watch her,” he told Molly, and then he didn’t speak again, just kept climbing.

            “She’s moving faster,” Molly told him a minute later. “She’s near the top.”

            And now Grezzik had a dilemma, because he didn’t want to confront the witch midair. Not only was it far more dangerous for Waverly, it was more dangerous for himself and Molly. But if he let the witch get too far ahead of them, she could lay traps.

            “Tell me when we’re fifty feet apart,” Grezzik replied. His back was starting to ache, and his knees protested every movement, but his arms were fine, and there was no time for this.

            A couple minutes later, Molly shouted “now!”

            Grezzik looked up, saw the heels of the witch’s boots. It would be so easy to just speed ahead, but instead he kept pace with her. At least, until the witch was over the top. Then he sped up with a burst of strength, and vaulted them over the top of the Cliffs. Molly somersaulted over his back, and landed with her sword drawn. They’d practiced that move hard, once upon a time.

            The witch was facing them, panting, her arms tight around the bundle.

            “Let Waverly go,” Grezzik demanded.

            _“Your medallion can't protect you for long. I can set the ground alight, giant. I can fly. I can change the rules of the world to suit my needs.”_

            “You can’t do that forever,” Molly snarled. “And we will follow you forever for that child. You must know this.”

            “Just give her back, and we will not harm you,” Grezzik promised.

            “Grezzik!” Molly snapped.

            “She is not our concern,” Grezzik replied. He was trying to keep his voice calm; Waverly was scared, and he didn’t want to scare her even more. “Riley, we will let you go. You can build a life far away from here, on your own terms. We won’t come after you. You have my word.”

            For a second, the witch faltered. Grezzik watched her indecision go across her face.

            Then that vanished. But Grezzik didn’t like the decision she’d made.

            “Very well. You may have the child back. If you can catch her.”

            And she threw the child with all her strength. The bundle sailed over Grezzik’s head, and he caught a glimpse of Waverly’s face, smiling at him.

            And Grezzik, who had never been paid for his brains, who wasn’t supposed to think, didn’t. He just dove after Waverly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwahahahaha.   
> For those of you who have read Buttercup's Baby...you might recognize this scene.   
> Don't worry, you only have to wait two days instead of 20 years to know the rest.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	8. Sally's Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally's worry over Waverly gets the better of her, and she and Miracle Max have a talk. And they discover something shocking in her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, I am so sorry! I got wrapped up with homework and house work yesterday and I forgot to post! Don't worry, the next chapter will be up tomorrow.

            Sally was getting tired of the bickering.

            It surrounded her like a dozen woodpeckers in the spring, barely piercing the mist that sheathed her ears. Everything felt numb and far away. Perhaps she was dying—she’d heard you could do that. Die from a broken heart.

            “Eat, Sally.”

            Sally heard that loud and clear, but that was only because Max was a loud man. Sally suspected he was going deaf, because he hadn’t started the shouting until after Waverly was born.

            Waverly.

            She needed to eat to keep her strength up, to make sure she had enough milk for Waverly. But what if it took days for Grezzik and Molly to return? Or weeks?

            What if they returned empty handed?

            “Sally. Eat.”

            Sally looked at Miracle Max. “I don’t want to.”

            “I know you don’t. You think your daughter’s gone.”

            Sally was about to retort, to ask this man why he dared to say he knew how she felt. Then she remembered that John was his grandson, and that John had no parents in sight.

            “I remember,” Miracle Max continued, and his voice was softer now. “But you need to have faith. Grezzik knows she’s alive.”

            “Why does he know that?” Sally spat. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but the damage was done. The words she’d been trying so hard not to say for six months were out.

            Luckily Philip hadn’t heard. He was standing with the others, talking through their options. Options, treaties, rules…the didn't matter. Someone had stolen her daughter. Someone had taken away her child. But she didn’t know if her child was alive or dead. Only Grezzik did.

            “Come outside, Sally. Let’s get away from all this.”

            Sally followed Max, and soon they were in the far garden, not the one where Waverly…

            Sally shut her eyes. She couldn’t think about Waverly. She couldn’t.

            Max sat her down on a bench and put a cup of creamy soup in her hands. “Drink it down, and listen to me.”

            Sally tried to sip at it. It went down easily enough, but she couldn’t taste it.

            “You’re not a bad mother, Sally.” Max held up his hand. “I’ve seen you. Every time someone has to carry Waverly instead of you, every time she drinks milk that isn’t yours, every time Grezzik solves a problem you didn’t even know was there…I see it. You hate it.”

            Sally did put down the soup this time. “I was bred to be a Carrier. That was all I was ever supposed to be. Not a mother, I know, but I was raised to bear the children of kings. And I nearly died bringing my daughter into the world.”

            “No one can guarantee the safety of a woman and child in labour,” Max said bluntly. “No one ever has. Oh, there’s been improvements, there’s been medicine and healing…but it is still the hardest act a body can go through, and little things can turn into huge problems. It is not possible yet to make that pain worth it every single time. I’ve delivered dozens of living babies, and I’ve buried many dead ones, and many dead mothers. I buried yours, actually.”

            “You delivered me?”

            “I was the King’s Miracle Man, of course I delivered you. Your mother had an easy labour, but she caught the fever and died.” Max took her hand. “It happens that way, Sally. It doesn’t make you less of a woman, nor less of a mother.”

            “What about Grezzik?”

            Max pursed his lips. “You know I perform…miracles, of a sort. And to do that, I dabble in magic. But Martha’s not a witch, and I can’t even conjure fire. I don’t understand magic, because I never needed to. I can recognize it though, and the bond between Grezzik and your daughter is through magic. Bolstered by love, certainly, but the connection is magical. He has become her Guardian.”

            “And what will that do?”

            “It will help him protect her, through all of her days,” Max answered. “He knows her suffering, and he will do everything in his power to ease it. This connection helps him in that.” He gave Sally a solemn look. “But you are still her mother, as Philip is her father. Those roles remain important, and you must fulfill them. Your daughter will need all of her family to get through life, I feel.”

            Sally nodded. It was stupid, she supposed. “I just…I’ve felt so weak and useless since she was born. And Grezzik is always so capable.”

            “Well he has magic to help him. Your instincts are still developing. Do you love your daughter?”

            “Of course I do!”

            “Then keep loving her, and she will teach you how to care for her.”

            “She’s not going to get much chance at that if we don’t sort out this mess with Jamiarty,” Sally sighed. The little hope she’d had vanished. Even if her daughter came back, she would never be safe. Jamiarty wouldn’t stop trying to go to war, and they would have to run. Only Sally didn’t want to run. Florin was her rightful home, and she missed it. It would be beautiful now in the Kingswood. Being a Carrier meant standing around waiting for a same-sex royal couple, and Sally used to spend most of her time in the garden. The King had sometimes come to see them, and he always brought sweets. He was the one to tell Sally she’d been chosen as Jamiarty’s Carrier, and he’d brought her a huge bag of lemon drops, her favourite. “You’ll Carry Sherlock’s baby, of course,” he’d assured her. “It wouldn’t…well, it’s better that you carry his.”

            Now Sally thought about that. It wasn’t entirely unusual, but the Carrier generally—well, carried the royal partner’s child. Even though the Carrier line reached back to a royal by-blow, there hadn’t been too much need for them. In twelve generations, there’d been two children from the Carrier line: a prince given to two queens, and a princess born to two kings. Sally’s child by Sherlock would have been the third. It was a bit close, but it wouldn’t be the end of the line in terms of incestual risk.

            So why couldn’t she have carried Jamiarty’s child?

            Then she understood, and her heart leapt to her throat.

            “Max,” she whispered, “when did the first queen die?”

            “She died when the Prince was two,” Max replied. His forehead creased. “The King didn’t marry her Highness until the Prince was nine. Why do you ask?”

            Sally was seven years younger than Jamiarty.

            “Who was my father, Max?”

            “I don’t know, Sally. Your mother only said that she hoped he would care for you, but no one ever came.”

            “Somebody did,” Sally whispered. “Somebody brought me dresses and made sure that I had my favourite candy. Somebody made sure I wouldn’t carry my brother’s child.”

            Max was staring at her. Without a word, he grabbed her wrist and tilted her hand palm up. He traced the lines on her palm in shock.

            “You’re the King’s daughter,” he whispered.

            “How does my hand prove that?”

            Max tapped the centre of her palm. “One day before the King became as ill as he is, he brought me a rock. He was very proud of it—he said it was his child’s handprints, made in the rock before it turned solid **(this was after concrete).** But they weren’t Jamiarty’s. He’s always had small hands, but these hands weren’t his. There was a mark in the left palm; it looked like a scar.”

            Sally looked at her hand. “I burned myself when I was two. It didn’t heal properly.”

            “I never said anything, because he never mentioned it again. But sometimes he would talk about his child and he would…smile, more. More than anyone would if they had that vomitous mass as a son.” Max looked at Sally. “Is anyone else alive who knew your mother?”

            “My aunt Cerise is living. She’s in the capital.”

            “And the King is in the South,” Miracle Max muttered. “But if you have royal blood, you can challenge the prat for the throne.”

            “But I’m illegitimate,” Sally objected.

            “Since when has that mattered? The whole reason you were born was to provide a child for the royal family! You’re probably close to being a cousin anyways. And you have something that the prat doesn’t. You’re married, and—”

            “And I have an heir.” _Waverly._ “Is that why Riley took her?”

            “No. I think everyone was right, that she took her out of jealousy. If she’d taken her to protect the throne…” Max trailed off, but Sally could fill in the blanks.

            “They have to find her. And then…I suppose I’d better take the throne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we'll get back to Grezzik, don't you fret!   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	9. Catching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back to the Cliffs of Insanity, and Grezzik and Waverly are falling...

            Grezzik fell.

            He’d never been afraid of heights, and his stomach was calm as he tumbled down after the precious bundle. He was focused on one thing alone—getting to Waverly.

            The law of gravity states that objects follow the same rate of falling, but Sir Isaac Newton had never met Grezzik. Grezzik started flutter-kicking through the air, keeping a smile on his face in case Waverly saw him.

            And she did, and she laughed, little arms coming out to him. Grezzik made a silly face at her, the wind roaring through his ears. He continued to flutter-kick. The beach was rushing towards them, but Grezzik didn’t panic. He would get to Waverly, and he would hold her in his arms and shield her from the impact.

            Two hundred feet from the ground, he caught up with her. He drew her close to his chest, curling into a ball as much as possible.

            He pressed a kiss to Waverly’s head. “Whenever you need shade, think of me,” he whispered. “I will be there.”

            He made one last funny face, heard her little laugh one last time, and closed his eyes.

            _Thank the Powers I was a giant after all._

            Then the impact came.

            But it didn’t hurt.

            Grezzik kept his eyes closed, because perhaps he’d died too quickly to feel the pain. And now that he was facing it, it was scary, and what if he opened his eyes and there was nothing? Just cold and…dark, and alone?

            But he was swooping up, and up, and he still felt warm, and he could feel Waverly in his arms. Had she died too?

            Terrified, Grezzik opened his eyes.

            He didn’t appear to be dead. He was sitting now, going swiftly up the Cliffs with Waverly, who was smiling hugely.

            They were both sitting on the back of a bird.

            Grezzik blinked a few times, but it was definitely a bird. Large enough that he sat comfortably on its back. It was bright red, its feathers shining in the sunlight, and was clearly carrying them to the top.

            “Thank you,” Grezzik whispered. He could see Molly now at the top. She was staring, her sword high.

            The bird landed at the Cliff’s edge, and Grezzik dismounted. He got an armful of Molly.

            “Are you alright?” Molly gasped.

            “Yes. I am unhurt. So is Waverly.” Grezzik shifted the bundle in his arms. “Where is Riley?”

            Molly just pointed. The woman lay on the ground, gasping. She had wounds to her arms and legs, but Grezzik could tell they weren’t fatal.

            “I thought she might be worth something to Sally and Anderson alive.” Molly’s eyes were fierce, but her hands were gentle when she stroked the baby’s head. “Hello, little one. It’s good to see you safe.”

            Grezzik turned to the bird. “Thank you, again,” he said. “Why did you save me?”

            “Grezzik, it is a bird. It can’t answer.”

            But as Molly spoke, the bird began to shift.

            Grezzik watched in amazement as its wings shrank into its body…as its beak changed to a mouth…as its feathers became a red dress…

            And Ireni stood before them.

            “What on earth have you two been doing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MwahahahahaHAHAHAHA.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	10. A Favour Paid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ireni explains her reappearance, and asks to complete a favour.

            _Ireni knew that the world is a dangerous place. Her physical strength wasn’t much to speak of, but she trained her mind to control her body. And for the things her mind could not control…well, she took precautions._

_When she drank the wine, and the man in black told her she guessed wrong, she started to laugh. At first it was because she thought she had beaten him after all. But then she felt the poison, and she kept laughing._

_Her magic wasn’t her first and foremost concern in her life. It would be foolish to ignore it, so she practiced her witchcraft faithfully. But she preferred living by her wits. Magic felt like cheating. Maria and Grezzik weren’t using magic to increase their skills. Neither would she._

_The one daily concession she made was a swig from a flask. It contained a bezoar, mixed with some good white wine. It wouldn’t protect her from everything, but it would give her body a chance to heal from most poisons._

_And so, as her vision went dark, Ireni kept laughing. And she fell to the ground, knowing she was beaten, but she would live._

_Two days later, she woke from her coma. Her face was burnt and there were marks on her arms and legs, as if a hundred mosquitoes had drained blood from her. Ireni wondered if that would give them immunity from poison for a while._

_She sat up. The hilltop was empty. She spotted footprints in the grass. Grezzik—lumbering, faithful Grezzik—must have come to see her, still alive after all. He didn’t know about the elixir, and neither did Maria. If they had, she would have had to make more for them, and getting bezoars was a chore._

_Ireni looked around. What was she going to do? Grezzik must be alive, but Maria should be dead. And even if they were both alive…Ireni felt a twinge of regret. They were her best friends, her only family. She’d always been better at using people than being kind, but she had tried. And now look. Grezzik hadn’t even buried her._

_**(He hadn’t because he couldn’t bear the thought of putting her underground, but Ireni didn’t know that).**_

_Then she cursed, because she remembered her vow. She would have to go after them._

_She needed to help them._

Molly stared at Ireni. “What vow are you talking about?”

            They were in the rowboat again, after Grezzik had climbed down with the three of them strapped to him. They were slower going back, partly because of the extra people onboard, but London was approaching. Molly had knots in her stomach. Ireni had always made her feel that way, and now, when she’d returned from the dead…what did she want?

            “Do you remember when I first found you?” Ireni asked her.

            “Not really,” Molly said truthfully. The first few days she knew Ireni had been a booze-filled haze, and the month after that of painful withdrawal didn’t bear thinking about.

            “Fair enough. The first night you agreed to work for me sober, I promised you a boon. You never asked me for anything, though.”

            “You made me the same promise,” Grezzik said. He stopped rowing. “Wait. You have magic. Was it—”

            “Look at you, getting smarter.” Ireni let Waverly grab one of her fingers. “Yes. By the time I found you both again, you were in London. And you were…well, you were happy. I didn’t want to spoil that.”

            Molly exchanged an incredulous look with Grezzik.

            Ireni sighed. “I know what you think of me, and you’re right. I’m a monster. I’m rude, I’m demanding, and selfish. I did little other than abuse you both.”

            Molly didn’t say anything. She agreed with it so far.

            “My problem is that I don’t…well, I don’t feel the way other people do. My mother used to tell me someone had stolen my heart when I was a baby. I searched for years for a spell that could do that, to try and reverse it. But it was only a story, a metaphor for my lack of conscience. I used to feel badly about that, but I don’t anymore.”

            Molly shivered.

            “So I found a line of work that appealed to that. It’s never bothered me, any of it—the killing, the ransoms, the…well, negotiations. But I knew it mattered to both of you, so I kept you from the worst parts. And I’ve tried…I’ve tried so hard to be kind to you, but it’s hard. And I never really succeeded. And when I found you in London, I saw that you were with people who were being kind to you. I didn’t want to take you away from that. And then that woman was pregnant, and you needed help, and for the first time, I could…I could help you. In a way that mattered.”

            “Thank you,” Grezzik said. “I’m sure Sally and Anderson will thank you too.”

            “I did it to pay a debt,” Ireni replied. “I don’t think that counts as good.”

            “You just saved Grezzik and Waverly from falling.” Molly kicked Riley’s shoulder. The kidnapper was stretched out along the bottom of the boat. _She’s helpless_ ¸ a part of her brain tried to say.

            _I don’t care_ , said the other part. _Waverly was helpless too._

“No point bringing this little girl into the world only to die, right?” Ireni looked at Molly. “I suppose I still owe you a boon. What would you like?”

            “I have what I want. I have my woman, my justice, and my new family. I don’t need anything from you.”

            Ireni looked disappointed. “Alright. Let me know when that changes.”

            “Are you that desperate to pay your debt?”

            “Of course I am. Even Sicilians don’t like to owe anything.”

            “There is something she could do, Molly,” Grezzik offered. “She could help us against Jamiarty.”

            Ireni groaned. “No, Grezzik. I want him dead. That’s no favour.”

            “You took this job from him.”

            “I would never have done it if I’d known his precious Princess had a homicidal boyfriend.”

            “You can’t hurt John,” Molly said immediately. “He and Sherlock are happy now.”

            “Oh, I know when I’m beaten,” Ireni said amiably. “Fair play to him; love is supposed to be powerful. I’d destroy anyone that got in my way too. So what’s Jamiarty doing now?”

            “He’s trying to start a war against Guilder.”

            “One trick pony, isn’t he?”

            “He’s doing it by trying to claim that Janine stole his property when she took Sally in,” Grezzik said. “Sally is from the Carrier family.”

            “If Sally left of her own free will, she rightfully stole herself.” Ireni glanced behind her at London. “Well, I’ll do what I can. I’ve my own score to settle. And on the way, who knows? I might figure out your favour, Molly.”  

            “Your word you won’t double-cross us?”

            “Like I said, the little girl will likely die if you’re all fighting, and that ruins my favour.” Ireni glanced over her shoulder. “We’re here now, anyways. I didn’t have enough time to come up with a brilliant plan.”

            Molly blinked. Ireni was right; they were nearly at the docks. Anderson stood there, and when Grezzik raised Waverly up, he fell to his knees.

            “Grezzik, row quickly. I can take Waverly.” Molly tucked the baby into her arms. Waverly cooed up at her, and Molly couldn’t help but smile. Holding this child that wasn’t her own, she wondered if maybe she was ready to be a mother at last. She couldn’t fathom the idea when she was looking for Count Rugen, because she was a failure as a daughter. But Janine wanted kids (and needed them, for the throne)…perhaps they could have a child now.

            Then they were at the docks, and Anderson was reaching down for his daughter and grabbing her to his chest and sobbing. Grezzik lifted Molly and then Ireni out of the boat, and Molly raised her sword, angling the ray of sun off the blade so it sparkled.

            “They’ll see that at the castle,” she explained to Anderson. “Come on. Let’s bring your baby home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If some of you think Ireni's method of resurrection is familiar, that's because it is. I borrowed it from Supernatural.   
> And yes, I brought Ireni back. I didn't want to kill her in the first story (even though that's what happens to Vizzini), but she was going to be too much trouble. She's helpful now!   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	11. A Princess' Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally just wants to see her daughter again, but there's more than she bargained for.

Sally saw the flash and screamed.

            “They’re back! They have her!”

            Martha grabbed her by the arm. “You’ve got to sit down, dear. There’s been too many shocks today.”

            Sally wanted to fight the woman, but her legs had already given out.

            Sherlock helped her to a chair. “Sit, your Highness. You know that they’ll bring Waverly as fast as they can.”

            _Your Highness._

            The moment she told the other’s her suspicions, they accepted it. Immediately. “Everything you said makes sense,” Sherlock told her, a rare compliment.

            “And even if you’re not, it’d be much better to have you as a Queen than Jam—sorry, Grampy. Better you than the Vomitous Mass.” John patted her hand. “I think it’ll be great.”

            Philip had just kissed her hard, and then gone to wait by the docks. Sally didn’t really know what he was thinking.  He would be her King, or her Prince Consort, or something, and their child would be a Princess.

It really didn’t bear thinking about. She was a Carrier. That was all she was. She couldn’t be a Queen…

            “Breathe, dear.” Martha set her hands on Sally’s shoulders. “Focus on your breathing, and it’ll be over soon.”

            Sally did as Martha said, her head resting on her knee. Her stomach ached, and she clenched her fists.            

            “Sally!” It was Philip, and when Sally looked up he was there, Grezzik carrying him, Waverly in his arms.

            He passed Waverly to her. Sally drank in the sight of her baby—still wearing the same clothes, still the same smile, still _fine._ There was nothing wrong with her, she was okay.

            Sally covered Waverly’s face with kisses as Philip put his arms around them both. Waverly finally began to fuss, and Sally opened her dress, letting Waverly nurse. Only then did she look up to Grezzik and Molly. “Thank you”, she whispered. “You saved her.”

            “We had some help,” Molly said. The Spanish lady didn’t look as happy as Sally expected.

            Another woman stepped forward. Her red dress was almost as long as her hair, and her eyes were intense, as sharp as knives. “You’re Sally, are you?”

            “Yes. You have my gratitude for my child.”

            “She saved my life as well,” Grezzik mumbled. “Riley…well…”

            “She tossed the baby off the Cliffs of Insanity, and Grezzik seemed to think he could fly,” the woman cut in. “Luckily, I _can._ ”

            “He did **what?”**

            Sally turned. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but Mycroft, Sherlock and John had returned. Mycroft was pale. “Have you lost your senses, Grezzik?”

            “I thought I could shelter Waverly from the crash,” Grezzik explained. “But Ireni caught us before we landed.”

            “Ireni?” Philip looked at John. “Didn’t you…”

            “Oh, so you were the Man in Black?” the woman—Ireni—asked.

            “Indeed.” John looked thoughtful. “Did I miss a step?”

            “Oh no. You beat me fair and square. I just had some magic up my sleeve.” Ireni looked at Sherlock. “Hello, Princess.”

            “Ireni. Have you come to kill me now?”

            “No. Just to fulfill a witch’s vows. They’re important.”

            “Of course.” Janine was there now. She went to Molly and took her hands. “I am glad you are all back. Where is the witch?”

            “Yes, where is she?” Sally hoped Riley wasn’t dead. Not yet.

            Ireni drew a bottle from amongst the folds of her dress and offered it to Sally. Sally looked at it. Inside was a tiny woman. She looked injured and frightened.

            “She can breathe, right?”

            “She’s fine,” Ireni confirmed. “So what do you need from me? Let’s get the bastard.”

            “We have a way we didn’t know before,” Janine said. She inclined her head to Sally. “We should get the Princess to rest.”

            “The Princess?” Grezzik asked.

            “I checked the birth announcements,” Sherlock said. “Sally’s birth was included twenty-five years ago. No father was named, but the announcement was written in the king’s own hand.”

Birth announcements had to be written by one of the parents.

            So it was true. Sally looked down at her daughter, who was probably so confused by the last few hours, so bewildered by the suddenly strange.

            “I know how you feel,” Sally whispered.

            She, Sally of House Donovan, was the King’s daughter.

            She was a Princess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now that Waverly's home, there'll be no more drama, right?   
> Nope. Not a chance.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	12. A Witch's Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riley is interrogated, and she reveals a disturbing truth from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for a pretty nasty idea.

            “Alright,” Janine said. “You know you’re in trouble, Riley. What you may not know is that everyone in this room is willing and able to kill you, and several of us have no qualms about killing you painfully. Those are facts. It is up to you whether you want to take those facts into account.”

            Moran had been removed from the chair, replaced with Riley. Jamiarty’s best friend was now in the dungeon, safe and secure. Stam had volunteered to watch him, but Janine had refused. “You were in the inner circle once,” she told him. “We’re going to need yours and Sally’s help most of all.”

            Riley’s wounds were bandaged, but the woman still looked unnaturally pale. Sally sat in front of her, Waverly in her arms. The others were gathered round, all watching. A ring of guards filled the rest of the room.

            “I understand.” Riley’s voice was sweet and high, not at all what Janine expected from a woman with such fierce eyes. “I can figure out when I’m beaten. Shame none of you can.”

            “Oh really?”

            “Jamiarty has a case with the Carrier slut.”

            Anderson advanced on her. “Hold your tongue.”

            “You’re one to talk, Philip.” Riley’s voice sharpened. “You kept a lot from me.”

            “I never meant to hurt you, Riley. You told me you didn’t love me. That’s why I wooed you. I knew you weren’t going to have feelings for me.”

            “Fair enough.” Riley laughed. “Look where that’s brought us.”

            “Yes. Me with my lady and child, and you a prisoner.”

            “Oh, that would be a mistake. You’re not going to send us home?”

            Janine held up a hand before Philip could retort. “Is that what you advise? To let two dangerous enemies return to their stronghold?”

            “That’s your only option, if you don’t want war.” Riley smiled. “Sherlock, at least, knows how important Seb and I are to Jamiarty. Why do you think he sent us? It would be harder for him to argue if he sent Lord Woodley or Lady Hope. They aren’t that close. Come now, Princess, don’t be stupid.”

            “And it’s even better if he tells everyone that you were captured attempting to recover his…property.” Janine’s teeth clenched on the last word. That hurt to say, but diplomacy meant speaking the enemy’s language until you could choke them with their words.

            “Of course. You’re the only country that knows…well, some of what Jamiarty may have done wrong.”

            “Well, that’s not true.” Janine nodded to a guard. The guard curtseyed and opened the door.

            Three people entered the room.

            Queen Chessa of Sanctaphrax came in with her snow leopard striding by her side. She was the oldest queen Janine knew, the first female ruler on the continent. She was also Janine’s maternal grandmother, and she gave her a friendly nod.

            Princess Savira of Archenland had come on behalf of her husbands Roc and Rilian. She had the long hair of her people, but her purple eyes told of her Regalian heritage.

            Her brother, Prince Sukiv, had come from Regalia. The underground kingdom technically existed within Guilder’s borders, but they lived so far down no one bothered. Sukiv had a heavy hood and wore thick gloves to protect himself from the sun.

            “Welcome, your Grace, your Highnesses.” Janine inclined her head.

            “Grand-daughter,” Queen Chessa said. “We hoped to join you at your wedding.”

            Janine’s eyes widened. “I haven’t—”

            “Well, not yet, but it’s coming, no?” Queen Chessa looked at Molly. “Come now, child.”

            “Perhaps…” Janine blushed. “We can discuss this when all is settled.”

            “Quite.” Sukiv’s voice was almost as musical as Riley’s. “And right now it looks as though Jamiarty is inviting conflict. Is the child alright, Princess?”

            Janine tensed. Sukiv wasn’t looking at her.

            Riley caught it too. “Wait. She’s—but Jamiarty killed his—” she clamped her jaw shut.

            “What do you mean?” Sherlock snapped. “Who did Jamiarty kill?”

            Riley didn’t speak, but her face was turning pale.

            “There’s nothing more pathetic than an accidental traitor,” Mycroft mused. He stepped closer. “You’re quick, Riley. You might as well tell us. Jamiarty had another half-sister, did he? We would have heard of a legitimate child, and Queen Bella is infertile.”

            That was news to Janine. “Is she?”

            “They kept it quiet. All she ever wanted was a child.” Sherlock’s voice was softer than Janine had ever heard. “She told me when Jamiarty brought me to the palace for the first time. She really wants…wanted grand children.”

            “Sally was born before the King remarried, but there would have been room for another child.” Max bit his lip. “I delivered all the babies at the palace, but I can’t…the King never spoke about another child. There were none who died young.”

            “Maybe she wasn’t born at the palace,” Stam spoke up.

            “One way to find out, I suppose.” Mycroft drew a bottle from his robes.

            “Are you sure you want to use that?” Janine asked. She still didn’t like it.

            “What is it?” John stepped closer, and Mycroft offered him the bottle.

            “It’s drops from the Veritas flower,” Savira said. “It’s rare as anything, how did you get so much?”

            “I have a garden,” Mycroft replied. “I grow it there; the soil here is excellent for it. You may have some to take home, if you like.”

            “Veritas…isn’t that a truth serum?”

            “Yes. It forces a person to give a truthful answer, a fully truthful one.” Janine grimaced.

            “Is it painful or something?”

            “No, but it’s…it’s non-consensual. Once Riley drinks it, she has to tell us.”

            “Well of course it’s non-consensual, it’s for interrogation!” Janine’s grandmother shook her head. “I still don’t know how you’re going to manage your laws when you become Queen, my dear.”

            Neither did Janine. Her father and mother did most of the judgement in the capital, especially now that she was ambassador to London. She just didn’t want to make people do things.

            “You can tell us now, Riley,” Janine appealed to the prisoner. “Tell us what we want to know. Give yourself a chance.”

            Riley spat.

            Mycroft shook his head. “John?”

            John tilted Riley’s head back, holding her firmly in place when she tried to thrash. He tipped two drops onto her tongue, and then stepped back. The woman spat, but her spit was clear. She’d already swallowed the potion. Her body relaxed in the chair, and she smiled at them all. “Hello!”

            “What is your name?”

            “Riley Canterbury.”

            “Why did you come to this palace?”

            “I came to steal Philip’s child. Jamiarty told me to come to just witness that the Carrier slut was here, but I stole her spawn. She was mine by right.”

            “What were you going to do with her?”

            “Keep her. I wanted to go to France and raise her. No one would question me.”

            Janine swallowed hard. If she’d succeeded, Waverly would have disappeared.

            “Are you loyal to Prince Jamiarty?”

            “To the death. The only reason I took the baby is because it wouldn’t hurt his plans. I would miss him, but he doesn’t need me.”

            “What are his plans?”

            For the first time Riley started to fidget. “He wants to take over Guilder, but he needs a new source of war. He decided to take back the Carrier slut, but he knew you wouldn’t give her up.”

            That confirmed Moran’s story.

            “What will you do if you’re sent back to your Prince?” Sherlock asked.

            “I’ll tell him about your alliances—he knew about Sanctaphrax, but not Regalia or Archenland. I’ll tell him about your guards, and how you don’t know how to deal with magic.”

            “Well, that’s not true anymore.” Ireni held up her hands, and sparks danced between her fingers.

            “I think I could beat you in a fair fight,” Riley replied agreeably.

            “One last question, Riley. How did Jamiarty kill his half-sister?”

            Riley stared at them. Her body started to tremble, and Janine was worried that the Veritas drops wouldn’t be enough. But then she relaxed back into her chair.

            “He told me that he killed her when he was ten. She was seven. He knew that his stepmother couldn’t have kids, and she was a possible heir. He didn’t want her there, so he hunted a poisonous flower. The King thought she died of fever, which was more or less true, I suppose.”

            “What was her name?”

            “I don’t know. Jamiarty never said, and the King never said a word about her. Neither of his daughters, actually.”

            “Where did she die?” Janine asked.

            “She died on the road. She was buried at the palace, but because the King was married, he didn’t want to hurt his wife with his by-blow, even if she was born before their marriage. He asked the gardener to bury her, and tell no one about her resting place.”

            “How do you know?”

            “My father was that gardener.” Riley’s shoulders slumped. “My wrists hurt.”

            “Adjust her bonds,” Janine directed the guards. She felt ill. They all knew what Jamiarty was capable of doing to adults, but murdering a seven year old? When he himself was only ten?

            “Take her to the dungeons,” Mycroft ordered. “Keep her in that chair, and lock her far away from Moran.”

            **The London dungeons were ridiculously long, full of decent-sized cells. One year during a hurricane, every citizen could fit down there.**

Once Riley was gone, Mycroft looked at Miracle Max. “Is that possible?”

            Miracle Max nodded, looking weary. “The year Jamiarty was ten, I was travelling in the fall. I went to…well.” He looked at John. “Your Grandmother and I went to visit your parents.”

            “So you wouldn’t have been there. Stam?”

            “I was a child, and Jamiarty hadn’t met Seb yet. It’s possible. And she wasn’t lying…”

            “If Jamiarty is a murderer, we have reason to depose him,” Janine said.

            John bristled. “He killed me!”

            “Yes, but you’re walking around. Hard to charge someone with murder when the corpse is talking.”

            John grumbled under his breath.

            “We have three things to do,” Sherlock said. He patted his husband’s hand. “We need to prove this murder, we need to depose of Jamiarty peacefully and we need to bring the King and Queen back from the Summer Palace to witness this. They’re the only ones who can make it stick.”

            “All of those things happen in different places,” Molly said. “We’ll have to split up.”

            “And we need to do it smartly.” Philip tapped his arm. “Sherlock, you and I could go to Florin. If we keep Moran and Riley here, it should be safe enough, and I can disguise you.”

            “Good idea, but I’m coming with you.” John took Sherlock’s hand. “We’re together, him and I.”

            “No one noticed,” Ireni muttered under her breath.

            “Meanwhile,” Philip said loudly, “I think Princess Janine and Duke Mycroft ought to stay here with the delegates and determine the best international options for dealing with this problem.”

            “Jamiarty does have allies,” Savira agreed. “Archenland borders one or two. We can talk about that.”

            “That leaves the Sicilian Crowd,” Ireni crowed. Her smile faltered when Grezzik and Molly looked at her. “What? It was a good name. We can go to the South and find the King and Queen. Do we know where the Palace is?”

             “I’ve been there once before, when I was a child,” Sally answered.

            “Do you know how to get there?” Molly asked.

            “You follow the Royal Road, it goes straight there.”

            “Well there you go. You’d better come with us—taking you to Florin is inviting your murder.”

            Sally flinched. “But Waverly—”

            “We can take her with us. There’ll be four of us, we can take turns carrying her.”

 Janine nodded. “This is a good plan. I don’t like to separate, but—”

            “We’ll be back together before you know it,” Molly finished. She kissed Janine. “Sweetheart, we’ll come home.”

            “What if we don’t?” That was Ireni’s blunt voice. “No offense, but we’re going up against one of the most powerful men on earth, and if he catches wind of what we’re doing, we’ll have armies after us before we can blink.”

            “We’ll have to be careful,” Sherlock said. “And we must swear now that we will not…we will not give in, no matter what.”

            “Jamiarty has no Veritas,” Anderson said. “I checked that.”

            “We will rescue our people, of course,” Grezzik added. “And I swear that I will get the four of you home.” He looked at Ireni, Molly, and Sally holding Waverly. He missed Mycroft’s frightened look.

            “We should have dinner,” was all the Duke said. “Those of you who are leaving should leave at dawn. I’ll have bags packed.”  

             No one ate much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...okay when I said I would never hurt a smol I meant one you had met. It's...yeah. Sorry about that.   
> Next chapter there will be some fluff to make up for it!   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	13. A Meeting of Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short interlude, where Duke Mycroft addresses some concerns, and Grezzik thinks he's getting a job offer.

            “Goodnight, Waverly.” Grezzik kissed the baby’s head, and handed her back to her mother. “I will come and wake you in the morning, Sally.”

            “Thank you, Grezzik.”

            When the door was shut Grezzik walked down the hall. The effort of the day was finally catching up with him, and his arms ached. Clearly he’d gotten out of shape in the last year; he might soon have to begin exercising.

            “Grezzik?”

            Mycroft was standing in the library door. He wasn’t in night clothes, but he was wearing a rich purple dressing gown over his regular robes. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

            “Of course, my lord.” Grezzik followed Mycroft into the library. “What can I do for you?”

            “I’m concerned about you,” Mycroft replied. “I believe I misunderstood you earlier.”

            “I’m sorry,” Grezzik apologized. “I’m not always very clear. What confused you?”

            “The part when you spoke about giving up your life for the child.”

            “What was unclear about that?”

            “The lack of concern in your voice.”

            “Oh. Well, Waverly is very young. She has much more of her life to live. I wanted to give her a chance to experience all of it. Besides, I was the only one large enough to shelter her.”

            “And what about when you promised your group that you would make sure they got back, no matter what it cost you?”

            “The same. I can do more than they can with my strength. It should give them time to run away. Do I have that wrong? I sometimes do.”

            Mycroft slammed his hand on the table, and Grezzik jumped. “Of course it’s wrong! What about saving yourself, Grezzik?”

            Grezzik thought the question over. “I would save the others over myself, my lord.”

            “But why?”

            “They have more reasons to be alive.”

            Mycroft was staring at him like he’d lost his head. Grezzik shifted uncomfortably. “I will not harm myself, my lord.” Perhaps that was what was bothering the man—as the High Priest, he had a duty to lead people away from suicide.

            Mycroft’s gaze softened. “I am glad to hear you say so, but what you said before was untrue. We would all miss you very much if you were gone.”

            “I suppose I am useful—”

            “To hells with useful! We care for you, Grezzik. All of us.”

            “Are you using the royal we again?” Grezzik asked. He found that confusing, so Mycroft and Janine tried not to use it around him.

            “No. I…I care, Grezzik. I have since I met you. You have a great heart and a fascinating mind.”

            “Do you mean fascinating like a pile of dung is fascinating?” Grezzik had heard Sherlock make that pronouncement a few days before. He’d politely wandered away before the Princess could explain.

            “No,” Mycroft said, and his tone was gentler now too. “Your mind is fascinating the way a tangled field is fascinating—Nature grows within it, its power coming from the chaos, springing forth new blossoms that no one’s ever seen.”

            “That was beautiful,” Grezzik whispered.

            “No one’s ever given you a chance to think, have they? Especially not that _woman_.”

            “No. I’ve always been strong.” Even his parents had always told him that he was so strong, so good at what he could do with his body, that there was no need to think.

            “But you want more, don’t you?”

            “I don’t need much, my lord.”

            “Mycroft. Enough of this lord business, my name is Mycroft.”

            “I don’t need much, Mycroft. I just don’t want to be alone.”

            Mycroft laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Once upon a time, I thought all I wanted was to be alone. My mind’s different too, you see. It’s more like a mine, and I dig deeper and deeper until all I have left is a bunch of empty tunnels.”

            “That sounds terrible.”

            “To be great, one has to be terrible.” For a second Mycroft’s face hardened, and Grezzik saw a power, a force he’d never known. It spoke of searching, of scratching remorselessly away at reality until it gave up its secrets. Then it was gone, and in its place was a tired man.

            Grezzik stepped forward. He hesitated for only an instant before he took Mycroft’s hands in his. “You don’t have to be terrible all the time, Mycroft. I could help you.”

            Mycroft looked up at him, relief in his eyes. “Then you accept?”

            “Of course, Mycroft. I am at your service.” A job, at the palace! Finally, he had a place in London. “I will be terrible to people sometimes, so that you can get some rest.”

            The smile faded from Mycroft’s face. “Do you think that I’m offering you employment? Grezzik? As a—a fearmonger?”

            “You’re not?” Now Grezzik was thoroughly confused, and a little afraid.

            “No, I—” Mycroft cut himself off. “Forgive me, I’m doing this all wrong.”

            Before Grezzik could ask what on Earth he meant, Mycroft pulled him down—gently, and any second Grezzik could have stopped him but he didn’t want to—into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen. LISTEN. If you think I'm not going to put Mystrade in every single chance I get, you CLEARLY haven't read anything else I've read.   
> (Literally all of my stories have Mystrade, that's the joke).   
> Kudos to Willow for seeing it coming :) Your squinty eyes were valid, my dear.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	14. A King in Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone starts on their journeys. Sherlock, John and Anderson make their way through the forest, and Anderson shares some fears.

            Sherlock was awake before John that morning, a first in their relationship. Even before he knew his heart, he would wake to see John in the fields, or to breakfast left in his room.

            John groaned when Sherlock prodded him. “Go 'way Sher.”

            “We’re going to Florin, remember?”

            That got John moving. “How are we getting there?” he asked when he swung himself out of bed.

            Sherlock stretched, looking for his clothes. “I think we should go over land,” he suggested. “London is still connected, after all. We just have to cross the bridge. ”

            “Aren’t we worried about speed?”

            “We’ll be fine. We can’t do anything until nightfall anyways.”

            “Fair point.”

            They joined the others downstairs. Janine’s eyes were red and she was holding Molly tightly, and Sherlock was stunned to see Grezzik give Mycroft a quick kiss. He shot his brother a look, and Mycroft just blinked at him.

            “Where’s Anderson?” Sherlock asked.

            “He’s packing Waverly’s bag,” Sally replied. She was shifting foot to foot, looking uncomfortable wearing boots again. “He remembers more than I do.” She trembled.

            “Are we sure you should be travelling?” John asked. “You’re still not fully well, and it’s a long journey.”

            “I have to go,” Sally replied. “I need to do this. Florin is in trouble, and if I can save it…if I can save it from Jamiarty, I will do whatever it takes.”

            Sherlock nodded. “You will be alright. You’ve got three very skilled people with you.”

            “Maybe John should come with us, then.” Ireni suggested. “Since he beat us all.”

            Sherlock grabbed John’s hand.

            “No thanks, Ireni.” John winked. “Wouldn’t want to show you up.”

            “Not exactly a graceful winner, are you?”

            “Not in the slightest.”

            Footsteps on the stairs announced Anderson’s arrival. He was carrying a small, soft bag. Sally met him at the foot, Waverly strapped to her chest, and Anderson held them tight. “You’ll be alright, my love,” he whispered. “Take care of our girl, and I will see you soon.” He kissed her hand. “My Queen.”

            Anderson joined Sherlock, and suddenly they were separated, all of them, into three groups. Three chances, three quests to bring Jamiarty to justice for good. Sherlock could almost see the delicate balance between them, the knowledge that failure meant not only the death of their hopes, but possibly the death of the group. The deaths of people who were family now.

            It  was supremely selfish, but Sherlock was grateful that John was in his group. At least he had a chance to protect John. The others would be safe. They had to be.

            “The sun will rise soon,” Mycroft said. Everyone went silent. “You all know what we must do, and the cost of failure. May the Powers bless our efforts, and I hope to see you all soon.” His eyes flickered to Sherlock. _Come back, little brother._

            Sherlock nodded. “Come, John, Anderson. We’ve got a long trek ahead of us.”

* * *

 

            The first few hours went by in silence. They were still in London’s territory, so there was no need to be discreet, and they kept to the road. Sherlock and John walked hand in hand, while Anderson walked just behind, his eyes fixed on the ground. Something was clearly bothering the spy, but when Sherlock glanced at John, his husband shook his head. Sherlock agreed. Waiting for Anderson to spit it out would be best.

            They reached the bridge to Florin just before noon. To Sherlock’s relief, Jamiarty hadn’t implemented his bridge guards despite London technically being its own small country.  They crossed the bridge, John keeping a hand on his sword. When they’d crossed, Anderson led the way into the woods.

            The terrain became difficult instantly. Sherlock wished for Skull; his horse was excellent at navigating the woods. Instead, they spent a couple of hours crawling and creeping through the forest, trying to stay on track without being able to see the sun. When they rested, John climbed a tree to check their direction.

            “We could stand to bear a little more west, but we’re making decent progress.”

            Anderson had curled up, his knees drawn to his chest. “Will we make it by nightfall?”

            “We should, yes. Anderson, is your leg bothering you?”

            “It’s nothing. Just a bit sore.”

            “Let me see.” John’s voice was no nonsense, and Anderson uncurled just enough to show his thigh.

            Sherlock winced in sympathy. There was a gash right above Anderson’s knee, through the material of his trousers. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, but it looked red and angry.

            “When did that happen?” John snapped. He drew his healer’s pouch from his bag. “Damn it, say something next time.”

            “It’s only been there for about an hour,” Anderson mumbled. His face was gray in the half-light. “We need to keep moving.”

            “Anderson—Philip. Don’t be stupid. We’ll get this sorted and you’ll be right as rain.”

            “Of course I’m the only one who gets injured,” Anderson muttered as John started to clean the wound. Through gritted teeth, he continued. “You know, the future king of Florin.”

            “You’re doing your best,” John replied. “It takes effort, you know.”

            “And I don’t reckon you’ll need to do much crawling about in the forest once you’re King,” Sherlock added.

            He’d meant it as a joke, but Anderson’s face crumpled.

            “Steady on,” John said, alarmed. “I can give you something for the pain, Philip.”

            Anderson shook his head. “It’s not that—it doesn’t hurt so much. But I…I’m going to be King, and I have no idea how to do that.”

            John started unwinding a bandage. “Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

            “But that’s just it!” Anderson burst out. Sherlock cast a quick glance around, but they were still alone. “How the hell can I figure that out? I don’t know how to do anything right!”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “I’m a rubbish spy—I had no idea Jamiarty meant to kill you, only that he was going to do something that involved you. And I got Riley so angry she came and stole my child! And that’s another thing—I never meant for Sally to become pregnant, it just happened! When I try to do something it’s not good enough, and my accidents are catastrophic.” Anderson put his hands over his face. “ _I almost killed Sally.”_

            “You couldn’t have known that,” Sherlock said awkwardly. He looked to John for help, but John seemed just as flummoxed.

            “And now,” Anderson continued as if he hadn’t heard, “I accidentally married the King’s illegitimate daughter, and she’ll be Queen if, _if_ , we can prove that Jamiarty murdered their sister. And now I’ll be King, and there’s no way I’ll be any good, and Sally will see that and hate me, and I want to support her and our daughter but maybe it would be better if I just went away—”

            “Have you talked to Sally about any of this?” John interrupted. His voice was calm, but Sherlock recognized the tone. His husband was furious.

            “No, there hasn’t been time for some of it, and the rest is—I’m ashamed.”

            “That’s the only mistake you’ve made that counts.”

            Anderson flinched.

            “You’re in love with her, yes? And you’re married? _And_ you have a child together?”

            “Yes but—”

            “You made vows, Philip! Your lives are intertwined, in the eyes of the Powers and of each other! You have to talk to her about all of this, and you cannot make decisions on your own. How would Waverly feel, knowing her father disrespects her mother this way?!”

            John was breathing hard. Anderson looked terrified.

            Sherlock put a hand on John’s arm. “Anderson, John’s right. If you don’t talk to each other, you’ll begin to drift apart. Life will give you reasons to separate, don’t make up reasons of your own.”

            John covered Sherlock’s hand with his own. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t yell, but Philip…take this from a man who left his love behind. Don’t let misunderstandings come between you.”

            Anderson nodded, his eyes wide. “I…you’re right. Of course. I just thought I should give her a complete answer.”

            “You can never do that. Her thought might change your mind.”

            There was a pause.

            “As to worrying about being King…” Sherlock shrugged. “I took Princess lessons for three years, and I never felt ready to be Jamiarty’s Queen, even when we agreed not to be in love. When I asked the King, he told me that it was a living job. You’re never ready for all of it. You have to love your people and do your best, and if you can commit to that and your Queen, you will get through.”

            Anderson nodded. He straightened his back, and Sherlock caught a glimpse of royalty, of strength in his pose. “You’re right. I’ll do it.”

            “And for the record,” Sherlock added, “Sally thinks you’re worthy. You’ve already earned the right to stand by her side. So keep doing that, and you’ll be fine.”

            Anderson nodded. “Life is ridiculous, isn’t it? A spy becomes a King.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve been mostly dead, and my husband went from a dairy farmer to a Princess.” John squeezed Sherlock’s hand. “We should get moving.”

            They’d made more progress than Sherlock thought, because the sun was only just setting when Anderson stopped in front of him.

            “I can see the Castle,” Anderson whispered.

            They were there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be switching between the different groups as things go on, so no one gets bored.   
> Also, I forgot to ask this last chapter, but did anyone recognize the names of the foreign dignitaries and their countries? If you did, congrats, you and I have read the same books :)   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	15. To The South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sicilian Crowd and Sally set off for the South.

            “Are the horses disguised?” Ireni asked.

            She was leading her old crowd and the mother and child down to the stables. The stable hand jumped to attention.

            “Yes, Ma’am.”

            Ireni peered into the stables. “Lovely.”

            The white horses Jamiarty was so proud of were now a dull brown. It was a special paint, the only way that they could cover the needed distance without showing the world, “hey, we have the Prince’s whites!”

            Grezzik lifted Sally onto one of the horses, with Waverly tied to her chest. Maria—no, Molly now—leapt up behind her.

            “Grezzik, are you going to ride?” Ireni asked, trying to mount.

            Grezzik picked her up, and Ireni let him without a thought. “I will,” he replied. “For now. These horses can hold me, and when they are tired I can run.”

            “Strong horses.”

            “Jamiarty only wants the best,” Molly answered. She clicked her tongue, and the horse started to leave the barn. Ireni followed, with Grezzik bringing up the rear on a patient horse.

            The Royal Road went through London for a mile to the north, and they headed that way. Waverly was quiet, tucked against her mother’s chest, and none of the adults spoke either. It was a dull way to ride, but they had no choice. Once they were on the Road they were under Jamiarty’s jurisdiction once again. Disguise was useless for Grezzik, but a touch of magic made him seem just tall, rather than gigantic. The three women were wrapped in thick cloaks. It would have to be enough.

            The sun rose behind them as they reached the road, and Ireni spared a quick look behind her. Her eyes had never been harmed by the sun’s rays, and it and the moon were the only constants in her life. She clutched the amulet around her neck—the mark of those twin gods, the sources of her power.

            Her mother’s worship of the sun goddess had brought her to Ireni’s father during an eclipse. He was a hunter, blessed by the Moon as a child. They were only together for that one night; they couldn’t live in the same light, different as they were. So Ireni went between them as a child; summer and fall with her mother, winter and spring with her father, learning her powers.

            And then one summer solstice she and her father travelled to her mother’s country and found her dead, dead from a fever no magic could stop. Her father’s grief killed him where he stood—that’s what the stories would say. In reality, Ireni found him the next day with a cup of poison by his side. He must have loved her mother.

            That day Ireni learned two things. The first was that she had to know more than magic to survive, that to depend on it would make you weak. The second was that her growing suspicion that she wasn’t built to love, that caring about people just didn’t happen to her…that was the greatest blessing she’d ever known.

            But when they stopped for lunch and Sally fed Waverly, Ireni felt a tug on non-existent heartstrings.

            Molly noticed. “Ireni, have you ever had a child?”

            “Hells, no! I’m too careful.”

            “Would you want one?” Sally asked. She switched Waverly to her other breast.

            “Well, your Highness, I’m not built for love. That’s not fair to a partner, and certainly not fair to a child.”

            “What if the child didn’t need love?”

            That threw Ireni. “All children need love. Even I needed it when I was young.”

            “But if the child already had people who loved them, and you just took care of them, taught them…?”

            “I can’t imagine that sort of situation arising,” Ireni said lightly. Though she felt a pang. It might be nice to spend time with a child. They always said such fascinating things, and she could guide them to whatever they wanted to do. If she didn’t know how to do something, she would learn.

            “What about with Waverly?”

            “I beg your pardon?”

            “You saved my daughter’s life. I am in your debt.” Sally considered Ireni. “I think you’ve turned to villainy because it’s easier than anything else. You look like the kind of woman who wants a challenge. Help raise my daughter. If she’s going to be a princess, she’ll need a dose of ruthlessness.”

            For the first time in her life, Ireni was speechless. She looked at Molly. “Maria, you’d better explain to this woman that I passed ruthless ten years ago.”

            But Molly looked interested. “It’s Molly. And perhaps…but you did say you were bored.”

            “Molly, I’m an _international criminal_.”

            “But you never killed the innocent.”

            “Do you not remember our last job?”

            “That was the first time. And you didn’t go after John and Sherlock, did you? Even though you were still alive?” Molly narrowed her eyes. “Unless this is some long, drawn-out plan to get revenge, in which case you’re stupider than I thought.”

            Ireni laughed at that. “You did always try to see the good in me, Molly.” She twisted her fingers. Coming so close to death…well, she didn’t want to do that again. And she’d never find another crew as good or as tolerable as Molly and Grezzik.

            Besides, there was the matter of that blasted favour.

            “I’ll think about it, your Highness,” she said at last.

            Sally handed her Waverly. “Hold her for a moment? I need to stretch my legs.”

            Ireni curled her arms around Waverly automatically, studying the child’s dark face. The baby was drifting to sleep, and Ireni watched the tiny eyes close, watched her surrender her trust completely to the woman—a complete stranger—who held her.

            Ireni wanted that trust.

* * *

 

            They rode on that afternoon, with the sun now over their right shoulder as it set. The air was warmer with every mile, and the cloaks were becoming oppressive. When they stopped for the night, Sally shed her wrap with a sigh of relief.

            “We can’t keep wearing those.”

            “We won’t,” Grezzik told her. “It wouldn’t make sense in this climate anyways.”

            “I never knew how varied the climate was in Florin,” Molly panted. Her hair was damp with sweat. “It almost feels like Spain.”

            “It’s weird that way,” Ireni muttered. She wasn’t sweating—the sun didn’t bother her. But she was sure Waverly needed to cool off.                 S

             Sally sat up with a jerk, having nearly nodded off.

            “We’ll rest soon,” Grezzik promised her. “I know we’ve been riding for quite a while.”

            “We need to get there—” Sally cut herself off and pointed. “Look!”

            Ireni turned. To the south stood a small hill, covered in flowers. The fading sunlight made the flowers nearly glow.

            “Sundrops,” she breathed. The rarer cousins of moonblossoms, they grew only in the south.

            Sally beamed. “I remember that hill now! We’re only a few hours from the Palace.”

            Ireni sank back in the water. “Well, there’s no sense going tonight. We’ll head there in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I wanted to give Ireni more backstory, because it does inform some of her actions.  
> Also, in case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of addicted to backstory.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	16. The Delicate Art of Diplomacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The royals work on the wider world, while Stam the Albino goes to the dungeon for a vital family reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for frank discussion of child murder (not gory, but some ugly thoughts).

            “Right.” Janine spread a map out on the library’s table. “Who wants to kill us?”

Stam refrained from rolling his eyes. These royals were so overly dramatic.

            Then again, they were planning to topple a murderous king and replace him with his half-sister, who’d given birth to a baby with the help of a witch. Some drama was called for.

            Queen Chessa frowned at the map. “Well, we can assume those in the room are safe…” her voice trailed off, and she looked sternly at them all. “Right?”

            “Your Majesty, if any of us are dangerous we will never succeed,” Mycroft replied. “We must operate on the principle that we are all trustworthy and willing to fight against Jamiarty.”

            The queen seemed satisfied with that reply. “Then our biggest dangers come from west of Sanctaphrax in Prumpt. The President is fond of Jamiarty; I believe he was his tutor once.”

            “North of Regalia could cause a problem,” Sukiv rasped. “Lord Banesworth of Nepce doesn’t like Jamiarty, but he’s a fanatic about the Right of the Crown.”

            **The Right of the Crown was the basis on which every monarchy in this world was established. It expressed itself in different ways—some countries followed royal bloodlines, while others had trials for those aspiring to be leaders. But the basic idea remained the same—whoever had the Crown was the ruler. Technically, of course, Jamiarty is not the full king, but because he was made his father’s official heir when he came of age (more on that later), he has the Right of the Crown**

            Janine took a quill and drew a circle which encompassed Florin, Guilder, Sanctaphrax,  Regalia and London. “Then we have a barrier of supportive countries. Do we need to worry about France, though?”

            The edge of that esteemed country was within the circle.

            “I don’t believe so,” Mycroft said carefully. “Goodness knows Louis the Fiftieth believes in the Right of the Crown, but he values France’s neutrality, especially if all of us support the action. And if we can prove the murder…”

            A disgusted muttering went around the table, followed by a silence. It was one thing to conceive of a cruel, evil adult killing a child. Horrific and nauseating, but plausible. But the idea of a child killing another child…

            And with that, Stam slipped out of the room. The others would get along fine without him; after all, he’d never left Florin in his life.

            Right now, he had someone else to talk to.

            The dungeons of London were nothing like the Capital’s dungeons. Those were dank, dark and musty, with mold growing out of the cracks in the wall. Here, there were new torches every twelve hours, and the floors were tidy, swept free of dust despite the lack of prisoners.

            Riley was gagged in one cell, but his cousin wasn’t even tied up in the other. Sebastian was pacing back and forth, and he barely looked up when he saw Stam.

            “Do you know what Jamiarty did?” Stam asked.

            Sebastian sighed. “What, exactly?”

            For a moment Stam felt sick. His cousin—the only person who’d ever been kind to him despite his albinism—stood in a cell, full of secrets. Full of Jamiarty’s secrets.

            “By your tone, I’m assuming it’s not the war-mongering,” Sebastian continued. “No, you sound disgusted, cousin.”

            “And you are not?” Stam approached the cell. “Seb, you weren’t always this close to Jamiarty. But ever since you have been…what has he told you?”

            “Everything.”

            Stam stared at him.

            “After you helped the Princess escape, Jamiarty took me to his room. There was a book there, a diary full of his crimes. He asked me to read it, and tell me where I stopped. He wouldn’t blame me for stopping.” His cousin still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I finished the whole book, and told him I was still his. That’s loyalty, Stamford.”

            “That’s not possible,” Stam whispered. “Everything?”

            “Just because I didn’t know it doesn’t mean those acts weren’t part of him,” Sebastian replied. “I pledged my loyalty. How could I reverse that pledge after he trusted me with his crimes?”

            “He didn’t trust you!” Stam exploded. “He showed you that diary to trap you. Who could you tell about it? And now that you know, you are complicit in covering them up. But how could you, Seb?”

            Sebastian finally met Stam’s gaze with empty eyes. “Cousin, my hands aren’t clean either. I’m a spymaster. There are parts of that job that …well, they were no worse than anything in that diary.”

            Stam wanted to vomit. “So you’ve killed a child?”

            Sebastian blinked. “What?”

            “When Jamiarty was ten, a girl of seven died. She was his half-sister. Riley was given Veritas, and she claimed that he murdered her.”

            Sebastian looked over at Riley’s cell. “Is that true, Riley?

Riley nodded. Stam could see her smiling under her gag.

            Sebastian was pale now. “She’s lying. That wasn’t in the diary.”

            “She couldn’t be.” Stam shook his head. “Are you that loyal, cousin? That you would stand behind a child murderer, a kinslayer?”

            “And you know plenty about loyalty, I suppose cousin? You left me without a backwards glance.”

            “That’s not true.” Stam had kept this secret since the escape, and it was hard to admit it now. “I—I thought a hundred times about trying to save you. You haven’t always been a bad man, cousin. Away from Jamiarty’s influence, I thought you could be saved. But every time I thought about it, something stopped me. I knew you…well, I didn’t know you anymore. I didn’t think it would work.” He stepped away from the cell. “My hands aren’t clean either, cousin. But my loyalty to my prince pales before my loyalty to my country.”

            Stam went upstairs, almost hoping that his cousin would call after him, but he didn’t.

            It wasn’t that simple, of course. Stam remembered the many years of quiet servitude at the castle as an orderly, taking care of the King and Queen as age robbed them of their faculties. When Miracle Max was fired, he was alone, and he obeyed the Prince. And when the Prince said ‘care for the prisoner in the Pit of Despair’, Stam had obeyed. But if John hadn’t died, if he’d never discovered the full truth, would he have stayed?

            Stam shook his head and put simple food on a tray. The others were still in the library making diplomatic plans, so he took Seb’s dinner down alone.

            Seb was pacing again when Stam came down. He didn’t look up when Stam slid the tray through the small opening in the door.  

            Stam turned to go upstairs, but Seb’s voice stopped him.

            “Wait. Stam?”

            “Yes?”

            “There is…” Sebastian swallowed. “In the diary, Jamiarty talks about his first hunt. The whole process, laying in wait, waiting for the creature to be vulnerable, waiting for the poison to take effect. He even said that none of the creature’s herd understood its death, and wailed for the accident.”

            “But Jamiarty’s first kill was an elephant,” Stam answered. “And he charged at it.”

            “I know that story too, but I just thought this was his real first one, and he was ashamed. It’s a cowardly way to kill.”

            “Or childish.”

            Sebastian flinched. “But it isn’t in a child’s hand, it’s an adult.”

            “So he never wrote about it until later,” Stam mused. “Perhaps he thought he was out of danger by then.”

            “He truly is.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “In the diary, he says he was truly proud of conquering the creature’s threat. He said that its corpse lay in a pretty place for years, and he decided to move ‘what remained’.”

            “Where did he move her?” Stam asked. He refused to give quarter. “Where did he move the remains of the seven year old girl he murdered, Sebastian?”

            Sebastian bowed his head. “He buried it—her—in the basement of the Zoo of Death.”

            This time Stam did retch, bile spilling onto the floor. He’d been down there several times himself.

            The basement of the Zoo of Death, far below the animals Jamiarty had collected to kill, was the Pit of Despair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure some of you have caught this, but Jamiarty's first murder is inspired by Moriarty's first murder in the show, when he was ten.  
> So Sebastian Moran is going to help...what can he provide?  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	17. Father and Daughters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally reunites with the King and Queen, and there's more secrets than Sally ever dreamed.

Sally wanted to leave that night, but she was talked out of it.

“We’ll be there before dawn as it is,” Molly said gently. “And you need rest, Sally.”

Sally glared at her, but she knew the swordswoman was right. This was the most exercise she’d had since Waverly was born, and the idea of getting on the horse again filled her with dread.

“Go to sleep with your daughter,” Molly suggested. “We’ll all keep watch.”

Sally did curl up with Waverly under a tree, not far from the road. But sleep eluded her.

Since the King had been ill, they’d only spoken a few times, the last when she was chosen as Jamiarty and Sherlock’s Carrier. And before his illness, they still had only seen each other about once a month. And tomorrow she would face him, and confirm if she was his daughter.

            And what if she wasn’t his daughter? What if she and the others were wrong after all? What would the King say, to see a Carrier stand and pretend to be a Princess?

            Even if he was her father, what did that mean? Sally had often wondered who her father was as a child, because it was highly unusual for Carriers to have children outside of a marriage ( **this helped to minimize the impact of incest).** But with her mother dead and her aunt quiet on the subject, she’d never been able to ask.

            Was she angry with him? Sally struggled with that one. It wasn’t the lack of crown that bothered her—the Carriers were all given a lovely house and ate as well as the royal family, if not with them. She had an education, pretty dresses, and a family that cared about her. No, she had never suffered for the material wants.

            But she’d never known. She’d never been able to say she was a living person’s daughter.

            _You might be lucky at that,_ Sally reminded herself. _You could be dead too._

            Waverly shifted in her arms, and Sally tightened her hold. She had no illusions about Jamiarty now; if she did ascend to the throne, she and Waverly (and Philip too, no doubt) would be targets. Only Jamiarty’s imprisonment would protect them.

            Or…or his death?

            Sally shuddered. She couldn’t kill her brother, or even order his death. That made her no better than Jamiarty. There had to be another way.

            With that troubling thought, Sally closed her eyes.

            It seemed an instant later when she was shaken awake by Grezzik. “We’re leaving now,” the giant said. He lifted her onto her horse, and Sally winced. Her legs were aching, and her scars ached.

            “I need to feed Waverly.” Now that the moment was here, Sally wanted to run a thousand miles away.

            “She’s not hungry yet,” Grezzik answered. “Don’t fret, Sally.” He patted her foot.

            Sally looked down at her daughter, still tied to her chest. In the dim moonlight, she could just make out the shape of Waverly’s face.

            _This isn’t just about me, or even Florin,_ Sally realized. _It’s about the future queens and kings. We need to protect tomorrow._

            “Let’s go,” Sally said aloud. She held herself tall, braced herself, and they rode out.

            The Summer Palace was as beautiful as Sally remembered. It was a low building, only one story sprawling over nearly a mile, and the stained glass almost sparkled in the dawn. Where there was stone, it was marble, polished and carved with the royal crest.

            The whole place looked like luxurious relaxation. The sea was warmer here than on any of Florin’s coasts, the gulls flying overhead came to nest, and the Royal Family brought their entire retinue here once a year.

            There was only one guard at the entrance, and she looked entirely relaxed. She didn’t even snap to attention when they rode up, though her eyes widened at the sight of Grezzik.

            “Hello Kate!” Sally called.

            Kate waved from her post. “Sally! What brings you here?”

            “I need to speak to the King and Queen. Where can I find them?”

            Good old Kate, she didn’t ask questions, though she was clearly bursting. “They’re in the library, I believe. Leave your horses here, I can take them to the stables.”

            “Thank you.” Sally waited for Grezzik to help her down, so she caught the interested look between Kate and Ireni. Shame there wasn’t time for that. Kate might be up for that challenge.

            The floors of the Summer palace were all thin carpet, perfect for ocean-soaked bathers returning to the halls. It also made their footsteps nearly silent, and Sally led her party in total quiet to the library.

            The first thing that shocked Sally about the King was that he was standing. And standing on his own, reaching up for a book, in fact. Queen Bella was the one sitting, but she was on a raised chair. It was almost comical, her feet dangling in the air, but that wasn’t why Sally smiled. Queen Bella had never looked so relaxed in all the time Sally had known her.

            King Lotharon looked at her. “Sally! What a pleasure to see you.” He came towards her, his hands outstretched. “After you left, I feared I wouldn’t see you again.”

            Sally was having trouble finding her tongue. She looked helplessly at Molly.

            The King followed her gaze. “You’ve brought friends, too. How splendid. We can have a feast!” Then his eyes fell on the bundle tied to Sally’s chest, and his eyes softened. “Oh my…”

            The Queen joined her husband. “You did have a child, then? How lovely.” A strange look crossed her face. “Not Jamiarty, I imagine.”

            “No, my husband’s. Philip.” Suddenly Sally couldn’t wait another moment. “Your Majesty? Could I speak to you alone?”

            The King looked surprised. “Whatever you say, my dear, you can say with my wife present. We have no secrets.”

            Sally gulped, and held Waverly tight. “Am I…am I your daughter?”

            Queen Bella touched her husband’s arm. “How did you find out, Sally dear? Did someone threaten you?”

            Sally blinked. That wasn’t what she was expecting at all.

            The King was looking at her with a gentle, worried expression. “Sally?”

            Sally bit her lip. “I…I figured it out. No one’s threatened me, but—”

            The King took a step forward, and Sally found herself in his arms. They were frail and trembling, but they held her close.

            “Dear daughter,” he whispered.

            “Father.” Sally laid her head on his shoulder.

            When they separated, the Queen beamed at her and took her hands. “I am so glad you know at last, Sally. May I hold your child?”

            “Of course.” Sally fumbled with the strap. “Her name is Waverly,” she added as she laid the child in Queen Bella’s arms.

            “What an interesting name.” Queen Bella rocked Waverly, smiling at her. “You have your grandfather’s face, little one.”

            King Lotharon looked at the others. “I assume you trust these people.”

            “I do. They rescued my daughter when she was kidnapped.”

            The King’s eyes widened. “Kidnapped? You must have quite a story.”

            Sally was about to begin, but Molly cut in.

            “All due respect, your Majesty, but we don’t have much time. Sally and Waverly need to be safe, and the only way that can be done is to prove Jamiarty guilty.”

            A shadow passed over the King’s face. “What has my son done now?”

            “It’s what he did many years ago, your Majesty,” Ireni answered. “When he killed your daughter.”

            The King swayed. “What?”

            Queen Bella took his arm. “Husband, sit down. Sit down, please.”

            King Lotharon obeyed, sinking into a chair. “Are you sure of this?” he asked. He was looking at Sally.

            “Riley—the guard, the woman who stole Waverly—she confirmed it.”

            King Lotharon covered his face. “What a damn, stupid fool I’ve been,” he whispered.

            “We are sorry,” Grezzik said. He was kneeling now, so his eyes were level with the King and Queen. “This must be terrible for you to think about. But Jamiarty is dangerous.”

            “I know,” the King said bitterly. “But I never imagined—he was only ten years old! How could he…” He shook his head. “I’ll tell you what happened—what I saw. Perhaps that can help.”

            “Carla and Jamiarty were on a trip with me. You were ill with a cold, Sally, or I would have brought you too.” The King took his wife’s hand. “Before Bella came into my life, I missed my wife terribly, and being around my children—all my children—made me feel more sane. But while we were away, Carla became ill too. At first I thought she caught your cold. But she faded away much faster than any cold I’ve ever seen. There was no time to send for Miracle Max, and by the time we reached the edge of the Capital, she was…she was gone.”

            “I felt so terribly for my son, watching his sister die, that I never told him about you. You were still so small, not quite three, and—” the King sighed. “Then I received the letter.”

            “What did the letter say?”

            “One of your children is dead. If you want to save the other, keep your son as your only heir.” The King’s voice cracked. “So I buried Carla in a grove instead of the Mausoleum and kept you a secret from the world. If anyone asked, I told them that I was letting the Carriers have the love they wanted, provided that there was at least one woman available to give a child at all times.”

            Sally looked at Ireni. The Woman was frowning, her tongue tracing her lips. “That doesn’t make sense.”

            “I beg your pardon?”

            “The letter, I mean. Jamiarty killed Carla, so he must have written the letter or got someone else to do so, but he doesn’t want to be King. He told me so when he hired me to kidnap Sherlock.”

            “What?” the Queen exclaimed. “Of course he wants to be King, it’s his dearest ambition.”

            “Are you sure?” Sally asked. “He does a very good job of pretending he doesn’t.”

            Queen Bella’s face fell. “That might be my fault. When I was first at the castle, he didn’t like me very much. I tried to make friends with him, but he said that all I wanted was to be Queen. Which wasn’t true; I loved you, husband, and I wanted to be your wife. I told him that, and I said that only stupid people would let anyone know what they really wanted if they wanted something bad.”

            Ireni’s eyes widened. “And he took that and ran with it, didn’t he?”

            “The past cannot be undone,” Grezzik said quietly. “What has been done has been done. We need to think about the future.”

            “Yes, of course.” King Lotharon passed a hand over his face. “You can prove that Jamiarty did this, I assume? Even though my son is unpopular, there are others who will not…”

            “We have people working on the diplomacy part,” Molly interrupted. “Princess Janine and Duke Mycroft are contacting their foreign allies as we speak.”

            The King stared at them all. “You’d make efficient conspiracists,” he murmured.

            “That’s really what we’re doing.” Sally looked away. “We have proof, Father.”

            “Then Florin needs a Princess.” Her father took her hand. “Sally, I know I haven’t given you the training, but you are my only living child. And I think you would make a wonderful queen someday. Will you become my Heir?”

            “Yes, Father.” Sally looked at Queen Bella. “I’d…I’d be proud to call you Mother. I never knew mine.”

            “My daughter,” Queen Bella answered. She touched Sally’s head gently.

            “Then we need to get back to Florin. That’s the only place she can become your Heir, right?”

            “Unfortunately,” the King said grimly. “We’ll need to get past my son.”

            “We might have a way around that,” Ireni said. “Your Grace, where…where is Carla buried?”

            The King sighed. “Carla is buried under a tree covered with knots, in a beautiful clearing. I’m afraid I haven’t been there in a while, because my health does not allow me. But it is a calm place. I hope she is at peace.”

            Sally glanced at Molly, who had gone very still, hardly breathing.

            “What’s wrong, Molly?”

            “Your Grace,” Molly asked quietly, “do you mean the clearing on the edge of the palace grounds?”

            “Yes. Why?”

            “Why?” Sally repeated. Something was twisting in her stomach as she saw Molly and Grezzik exchange a despairing look.

            “We found that place when we…when we were looking for John.” Grezzik bowed his head. “That clearing had an entrance to the Pit of Despair.”

            The King swayed in his seat. Sally squeezed his hands. “Father, stay with us.”

Her father squeezed back. “I’m alright, Sally. I just…the evil of that…”

            The old hands were shaking, but they were stronger than Sally remembered. “Father, you look well.” She blushed—it was such a change of subject, but something had occurred to her. “Have you been healing?”

            The King looked at her. “Before you came here, I believed that it was the sea air and the change of scenery,” he said evenly. “Now I am not so sure.”

            “Magic or poison?” Ireni said bluntly. She pulled up the King’s sleeve and gasped. The flesh looked normal to Sally, normal for an older man.

            “What?”

            “You can’t see—right, of course you can’t.” Ireni looked up at Sally’s father. “You’ve been poisoned, your Grace. And I recognize the magic.” She reached out for Waverly and touched the baby’s cheek. “It was the witch who stole Waverly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know there's some overlap in what people are finding out, but that's what happens when you split the party :)   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	18. Lord Moran Speaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moran's broken his loyalty. But he's already done more damage...

Back in London, the Diplomacy group (so named by Stam, who wanted some levity), were finding out the same thing from Lord Moran.   
Moran was still tied to a chair, but he wasn’t exactly trying to get out. He was slumped in his bonds, the same position he’d been in since Stam had brought him up.   
“So Jamiarty has always wanted to be King?” Mycroft said in disbelief. Of all things, he hadn’t expected that.   
“Yes, he has.” Moran had a couple drops of Veritas in him, but he was speaking very quickly, as if he was trying to outrun the truth spell. “It’s all in his book. He doesn’t want the care of a Kingdom, so to speak. That’s why he was so upset when he had to get married; it tied him to the throne. But he absolutely wants control.”   
“And that’s why he’s poisoning the King?”   
“The King was truly ill,” Moran said quickly. “But yes, Jamiarty has had Riley poisoning him for the last few years. It was enough to fool the Miracle Man.”   
“That jumped-up—” Miracle Max descended into curses. Martha patted his arm, but she too looked murderous.  
Moran looked over. “That’s right, I forgot you were here.”   
“Lucky you.”   
“Enough.” Mycroft felt something dangerous in the air. Something was threatening them beyond what they anticipated.   
“Lord Moran,” Janine asked, “knowing what you know about Jamiarty now, do you think he would stop with Guilder?”   
It was a reasonable question. The conflict between Florin and Guilder had been going on at different levels for centuries. Open war was a thing of the past, and Janine admitted that her parents were tired of the fight, but justifying a war against Guilder would be easy for Jamiarty to slide under the rug.   
Lord Moran bowed his head to Janine. “I don’t think so, your Highness. Jamiarty has always loved arguments, strife…he’s always needed to be at the centre of chaos in order to thrive. Before I knew about—before I read the book, I thought that was because he liked to hunt. He likes being challenged. But the type of challenges he chases are not for the good of his country, they’re for his own amusement.”   
“That’s no good for a King.” Savira scowled at the Lord. “And we’re sure that we trust you?”   
“Why on earth would you trust me?” Lord Moran asked bitterly. “And why trust you? The only reason I’m helping you is the child.”   
“Sally’s baby, or her sister?” Mycroft asked.   
“Her sister,” Moran replied. “Sally’s child is fine. She is safe with her mother. But the dead girl…that was unfair.”   
“We need to call our banners,” Queen Chessa said. “We may be trying to avoid war, but if it is coming the troops should be on their way. Besides, a coronation is an important event. I would like to attend.”   
“Regalia already has people on their way,” Sukiv growled. “They’ll be on the London border by sundown.”   
Everyone looked at him except Mycroft, who already knew the extent of the Regalian tunnels.   
“It’s a good thing you’re not the threat, Sukiv,” Savira said. “But I agree—the Archenlandian war ships can sail to Florin the moment I send word.”   
“We need to keep things diplomatic,” Mycroft warned. “Make sure those you send for understand that we might be taking down a prince, but a princess is there to take his place.” May the Powers will it so, at least.   
“If the princess isn’t legitimate, it might not matter what Jamiarty has done,” Queen Chessa warned. “She’ll need to be the Heir.”   
Mycroft sighed. “And of course, this is in the most melodramatic country on our continent.”   
The Florinese Heir Making ceremony was full of pomp and circumstance. It involved the Ruler Regnant bringing the prospective Heir up to the throne and dressing them in royal robes, each layer representing a different part of the responsibilities of the Crown. To make things even more interesting, the robes were all made of different types of material, from fine silk to heavy, thinly pressed metal. If the Heir could stay on their feet and walk around the throne once (to intense music), they were deemed the Heir. Mycroft went to Humperdinck’s Heir Making, and had been so bored he almost fell asleep.   
This one would be different.   
“The King will have to do that,” Mycroft said thoughtfully. “He will have to make his way back to the castle and complete the ceremony with Sally in order to make that happen.”   
“I’m sure Jamiarty will enjoy that,” Savira snorted.   
“He’ll know the moment it begins; the throne room is too public. They will need cover, and none of our allies can make it there that quickly.”   
“Sally isn’t alone. The others will be there, and Sherlock and John can fight well. And Philip will protect his wife no matter what.” He wasn’t a particularly good spy, but Mycroft was sure of that much.   
“Does it have to be loud, this ceremony?” Janine asked hopefully. “If they did it in secret, in silence…maybe they could be done before he can get there.”   
“It is far from the royal chambers,” Mycroft admitted. “I don’t know if everyone would be particularly happy about it, but so long as there is one human witness it will be true before the Powers.”   
“You’re assuming something,” Moran said. He looked…almost ashamed. Mycroft was surprised; he didn’t think the Lord was capable.  
“What are we assuming?”   
“That Jamiarty doesn’t know that Sally is his sister.”   
“We already know that he doesn’t. He never would have let her leave alive, and Riley clearly knows more than you about Jamiarty.”   
“He didn’t know when he sent Riley and I here,” Moran replied. “I’m sure he didn’t; he would have sent Riley to poison her at least, and definitely to kill her child. But he knows now.”   
The room went still.   
“How?” Mycroft asked, when he had breath.   
“Duke Mycroft, you have been an admirable ruler, and a formidable adversary for Jamiarty. You’ve essentially stolen this duchy from under him. But you must understand that there are people here in London who are still loyal to the Crown. Still loyal, therefore, to Jamiarty. And those people make excellent spies, especially when they’re within the palace.”   
No one said a word.   
“The guard on duty yesterday,” Janine said at last.   
Moran nodded. “She brought Riley to the dungeon, and left. She would have reached Florin by midnight.”   
Which meant Jamiarty knew about Sally, and had a whole day to plan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....look it is still Friday for fifteen minutes, this counts!  
>  Next chapter, we'll be checking back in with the people getting nearer the Castle. I wonder what they'll find?  
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	19. Carriers Caged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock seeks the help of a librarian, and he and John discover that John will have to face his old trauma.

            John looked the elderly woman up and down. He spun her around, ignoring her surprised squawk. Satisfied, he moved back. “You’ll do, love.”

            Sherlock’s glare was barely softened by the makeup. “Hilarious, John.”

            “Are you sure you have to go in?” Anderson asked.

            Sherlock sighed. It was a good thing Sally would be the Heir; Anderson needed things explained too much. “You are the Princess’ Consort, and John can protect you better than I can. Besides, I know the palace well. And Raz already trusts me.”

            Raz was the Head librarian, one of six who curated and cared for the royal collection of books and artifacts. Sherlock had spent many hours there, and he knew the librarian well.

            He also knew that two of the librarians were Carriers, and that Raz cared about his staff more than the books, which was saying something. If the Carriers had been harmed in any way, Raz would know. And be willing to share that information, so long as it meant they could help with the bashing.

            Sherlock kissed John. “I’ll be back soon.”

            “Are you sure he’ll be working this late at night?”

            “Yes.”

            The palace grounds felt very different as an intruder and not a valuable trophy, Sherlock reflected as he darted through the gardens. He used to avoid the guards because he got tired of being followed everywhere. Now he remembered how difficult it was to avoid them, how ruthless they could be. Jamiarty had trained them well.

            It was still child’s play once he got inside. The secret passage off the scullery led directly to the library. Perhaps some king or queen in times gone by was a voracious reader, and wanted easy access for servants and food while they read.

            Sherlock shook his head. Why on earth would the story of this passage matter?

            Ah yes. He was married to a man of stories and songs.  

            The passage ended in a wall surrounded by bookshelves, and Sherlock crouched there for several breaths, listening for movement. He could hear Raz, humming an off-key tune, but there were no other sounds. Sherlock crept through the shelves, walking the way an old woman should.

            Raz, looking weary and angry, was standing at a desk, flipping through a dusty book. The pages were edged with silver—a legal book, then.

            “Can you help me, young man?”

            Raz dropped the book. “Good evening, ma’am. I didn’t see you come in.”

            “I didn’t come in the normal way,” Sherlock croaked. “But no matter. Where is Eria, that young one? She was helping me yesterday.”

            Raz pressed his lips together. “I’m surprised you don’t know already. The whole castle’s been talking about it.”

            Sherlock was positive now, there was nobody there. He moved closer to Raz and spoke in his normal voice. “I haven’t been in this castle for months, have I?”

            Raz’s eyes widened. “Princess? Is that you?”

            “Hush,” Sherlock ordered. “Just in case.”

            “There’s no one here.”

            “Someone may still come in.” Sherlock returned to the old woman’s voice. “What happened to Eria and the other Carriers?”

            Raz shook his head. “Dragged out of here at noon. All the Carriers were. They’re being charged with high treason.”

            Sherlock’s heart dropped. The penalty for high treason was death.

            “Has the sentence been passed?”

            Raz shook his head. “They still need their trial, and the King isn’t back yet. Jamiarty has sent for him. What’s…” he looked around. “What’s happening, Princess?”

            “Let’s just say that Jamiarty has reason to fear one of the Carriers. She holds a secret that will bring him down. But I can’t tell you anymore. Just…stay here. For now. And if you hear a row in the next day or so…” Sherlock lowered his voice. “Get to the Throne Room.”

            Raz nodded. “Help them, will you? Eria…well, she’s been promised to me.”

            Sherlock was surprised. “She can do that?”

            “She’s technically Extra right now,” Raz answered. His eyes were overbright. “The Crown’s loss, my gain. Please help her.”

            “Everything I can do,” Sherlock promised, but he felt hollow inside. Something must have gone terribly wrong.

            He explained that to John and Anderson when he rejoined them.

            “The chances of something else happening that involves the Carriers and makes Jamiarty take all of them are slim to absolutely none.” Sherlock was pacing, his ridiculous dress-cape tangling in his legs. “Jamiarty must have found out somehow. So what are we going to do?”

            “We’ll have to rescue them. All of them, before Jamiarty gets anything out of them.”

            Sherlock stopped in his tracks. John sounded so calm, so serious. So matter-of-fact.

            “We can’t do that. There are twenty-seven female Carriers, and twelve male. Well, _their F_ emale and Male.”

            **Carrier gender was, of course, based on their life-giving capacity. Males had penises, Females had wombs. It didn’t matter in their day to day lives, and many lived without gender at all, until their services were called upon.**

            “So thirty-nine, right? That’s not so bad.”

            “John, if we start that…we’ll never get Sally safe. You know that.” Anderson looked panicked. “Even if he does know—”

            “He knows.”

            “If we start something insane, it’ll go absolutely mad. We won’t have a chance. The only advantage we have is that he doesn’t know where we are.”

            “So whoever his source is, they can’t have been there when we made plans.” Sherlock snapped his fingers. “That guard, the young one.”

            “Does it matter?”

            “You’re right, Anderson. You are quite often, you know.” Sherlock looked at him thoughtfully. “All we can do now is try and delay things, until Sally and the others have a chance to get back.”

            “Which at best will be tomorrow night.”

            “We can delay things,” Sherlock assured John. “I’m not worried about the Carriers. But we do need to make sure Carla’s mother is safe.”

            “How are we going to delay things?” Anderson asked.

            “The executioner is also the interrogator,” Sherlock answered. “For high treason they have to do things by the book, otherwise it’ll look like an Abuse of Power offense. Jamiarty wants to keep the crown, not lose it on a technicality.”

            **Some of you might be thinking that Florin has stupid rules. Of course it does, but that’s what happens when there have been a large amount of insane and/or cruel rulers in the history of countries close together. In fact, King Lotharon is largely regarded as the sanest and kindest of all the rulers ever. All the countries that respect the Crown follow these rules so that there can be an international reprieve from royal nonsense. Jamiarty wants to change them, of course, which is part of why he wants to start conquering, but until he has power he has to abide by the rules.**

            “So…we kill the executioner?”

            Sherlock and John stared at Anderson.

            “I was going to suggest tying her up,” Sherlock replied. “And making sure that she’s not free until tomorrow. But fair play, we could kill her.”

            “No! I don’t want to kill anyone if I don’t have to, but you said it with a very final tone.”

            “You’ve got to get used to that,” John explained. “He’s not always so rigid.”

            Sherlock glared at his husband. “Anderson, could you find the executioner and subdue her?”

            “Yes. I know where she sleeps. I’ll take care of it.”

            “Then you go ahead and do that. We’ll go to the dungeons and see if we can find the Carriers, see what happened. Meet back here, and if we’re not back by sunrise…wait for the others.”

            “Comforting.” Anderson brushed the mud off his trousers. “I’ll get to it.”

            “You’ll have to lead the way, love,” John said. “I don’t remember much of the castle layout.”

            “You were recovering from being mostly dead,” Anderson pointed out. “Don’t be hard on yourself.”

            Either Jamiarty’s security had become far more lax, or they simply weren’t interested in an old woman housekeeper and a valet. They only passed a few guards when they weren’t in secret passages, and there weren’t any guarding the dungeon.

            “Trap?” John murmured.

            But Sherlock shook his head. “No presumption of innocence for those accused of high treason,” he murmured back. “And anyone who helps them, joins them. No one will risk doing it, for fear of the Traitor’s Fate.”

            **The Traitor’s Fate is a punishment beyond description. Let’s just say that it has a similar agony to Count Magnussen’s machine, but far more public humiliation first. Death itself is an act of mercy. No one has ever been willing to risk that, not even for true love.**

“They won’t catch us,” John said, as if he’d read Sherlock’s mind. “And if they do…well, we’re guardians of the Princess’ child. I think we’ll get off.”

            Sherlock smiled. Then he heard a wail through the dungeon door.

            “Come on.” He drew his blade, John behind him, and they dashed downstairs.

            The sight drew them up short.

            There were twenty people in the room, chained back to back. They all wore the same plain, brown dress, and they looked terrified.        

            The woman who’d been wailing was writhing, her eyes tightly shut.

            “What’s wrong with her?” Sherlock asked.

            The one next to the wailer, a six foot tall Male woman Sherlock recognized as Eria, stared wildly. “Princess? It’s—she’s having a night terror. And we can’t wake her.”

            Sherlock raced towards the group, sparing only a second to look for traps. You didn’t need bars for traitors; only a locked door.

            He dropped to his knees and placed his hands on the young woman’s shoulders. She was still asleep, her wail getting shriller.

            “Wake up!” Sherlock ordered. “What’s her name?”

            “Alissa.”

            “Alissa, wake up!”

            Alissa’s eyes flew open, and she wrenched against her bonds. The man she was tied to cried out in pain, and that seemed to get to her. She stopped, looking around in shock.

            “What’s—where are we?”

            “Got taken for treason, remember?” The man’s skin was as dark as Sally’s. “S’all right, Alissa. Jamiarty’s gone off his rocker.”

            “There is treason afoot, but it won’t be treason for long,” John replied. He drew a pouch from his belt. “Alissa, can you and—sorry, what’s your name?”

            “Carin. What the hell do you mean, treason?”

            “Right, hello, Carin. My name’s John. I’m Princess Sherlock’s husband. We’re here to help with a coup.”

            “What sort of coup?” Carin asked. He moved his hands as John rubbed salve where Alissa’s struggles had made the ropes dig into his wrists. “And why does Jamiarty think we’re involved?”

            “All you need to know right now is that help is coming, and Jamiarty won’t be Prince for much longer.” _If all has gone well with the King_ , Sherlock didn’t say out loud.

            “Where are the rest of you?” John asked. “You lot are safe in here, the executioner is…indisposed. But we’re looking for someone older.”

            That was certainly true. These people were all around Sally’s age or Male. They were looking for a Female, man or woman.

            “They took our mothers and fathers away,” Eria said. Her eyes were dull. “Jamiarty said that he wasn’t sure if they were involved in the treason, so they needed interrogation.”

            “Do you know where he took them?” Sherlock asked.

            “To the Zoo of Death,” Alissa said. She was calmer now, but still trembling. “I heard Father scream it when they took her away. She’s terrified of the creatures there.”

            “Are you sure?” John asked. There was something strange in his voice, something Sherlock had rarely heard. It was fear and pain, all mixed up.

            “Yes. He said they didn’t want to cause them any…undue stress, particularly if they were among the innocent. It would give them privacy, and they could speak without fear of retribution or shaming their children.”

            “We’ll go after them,” Sherlock promised. “But we do have one question—do any of you remember a child called Carla?”

            Carin stared at them. “Why? What does her memory have to do with this?”

            “Jamiarty murdered her, because she was his half-sister,” John said bluntly. “His other sister is Sally, and we need to protect her claiming the throne by proving the murder.”

            “So much for not telling them anything dangerous.”

            “I changed my mind,” John retorted.

            “She was my half-sister,” Carin looked down. “Much older, and she wasn’t my Father’s child; before his time, but he loved her like his own. He’s dead now, but mother is still alive.”

            “What’s her name?”

            “Cerise.”

            “Thank you.” Sherlock stood. “We will protect them all,” he added. “But Cerise deserves the justice of knowing her daughter’s fate first.”

            “Tell her. And I will fight to protect my cousin.”

            Sherlock remembered now; her aunt was the one who raised her. The King had fallen for two sisters, how interesting.

            “You may all have to fight. But you will be safe, that we promise.” John looked at Eria. “Raz worries for you. He said to tell you he loves you.”

            “Thank you, Prince John.” Eria’s eyes filled with tears. “Go now. I fear what is happening to our parents. We can protect each other, but they are out of our reach.”

            John looked flummoxed, but he let Sherlock take him by the hand, and they left the dungeon together.

            Once they were upstairs, they broke into a run without speaking, dashing through the halls and secret passages until they were outside once more. Sherlock didn’t stop until they reached the trees, and then he slumped against a tall one, hand on his chest.

            “We’re meeting Anderson further—”

            “I know. Let me breathe.”

            John put a hand on his shoulder, but it was trembling.

            “We have to get them out,” Sherlock said when he could speak. “Jamiarty knows that one of them must be Carla or Sally’s mother.”

            “He doesn’t know that Sally’s mother is dead, then."

"Even if he doesn't, he probably wants to make sure that anyone who knew of Sally's mother is dead. We have to save them." Sherlock huffed, his breathing coming under control.

"Of course."

John's voice still had that terrible tone in it, and Sherlock took his husband's hand. "You don't have to go in, dear. Anderson and I--"

"No, Sherlock." John held Sherlock for a tight, brief, moment. "I can go in. I _can._ I have to. We have no time, and I won’t let anyone languish in there any longer. They don't have Stam."

Sherlock shuddered. They hadn't talked much about what happened in the Zoo of Death, partly because John wasn't willing to go into details, partly because Sherlock had guessed some of it. But the nightmares were there, the Machine was explained, and the hardest part was watching John wake up one morning to Stam calling and breaking into a cold sweat, curling into Sherlock's arms like he was trying to disappear.

"I'll be there with you," Sherlock promised. "Every step of the way."

"Thank you." John kissed him hard. "Let's go get Anderson. Do you know where the Zoo of  Death entrance is?"

"Yes. We went walking there early in our courtship, Jamiarty and I. It's going to be a bit of a run."

"Then let's go get Anderson. It's nearly midnight, we haven't got any time to waste."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if anyone's confused about the Carriers and their genders...it really doesn't have much impact on the story (other than Cerise, since she is a Female woman). I just wanted to extend Florin's gender tolerance to even the low class (and "breeding stock" for the Crown is technically low class, even though they're treated like royalty.   
> And of course a librarian helped them out; I'm two days away from finishing that degree, librarians are powerful!   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	20. Favours and Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group in the South returns to the capital, Molly decides on her favour, and some unexpected company sparks the beginning of the end for Jamiarty.

Molly looked around, checking for safety as force of habit.

The King and Queen had moved very quickly once the decision was made. Before noon, they were packed up, their retinue ready to go, and they were in a nice carriage. Kate was going to ride with them, as the King's newest bodyguard.

The whites (well, the browns still, their paint wasn't coming off for a while), were hitched to the carriage along with the King and Queen's own horses, so they were sure to go quickly.

But would they be able to carry everyone?

"Grezzik, I need your arms," Ireni announced.

"What do you need me to lift?" Grezzik asked.

"Nothing. I want to give them to the horses."

"What?!"

"We're never going to make it to the castle in time if we don't rush, but we...well, we can't rush properly on land with all of us. The best thing to do is to give the horses the strength of your arms, then they can run much faster."

"Will it hurt?" Grezzik asked.

"No," Ireni said, and her eyes softened. "You won't be able to do anything with them until the spell ends, but we can get there quickly."

Grezzik hesitated for an instant, and then he nodded. "Yes, Ireni."

Ireni started to chant in a language that Molly didn't understand, and the chant ended with a flash of sunlight. Grezzik's arms went slack, and he dropped the bag he was holding. Molly caught it before it hit the ground.

"Alright, everyone get in," Ireni ordered. "We have a kingdom to save!"

* * *

 

The ride was the longest of Molly's life. The horses were fast, faster than any she'd ever seen, but no one was speaking. The carriage wasn't the royal one, just a large one used for servants, and it was hardly a comfortable ride. No one dared to complain, though, and no one could think of anything else to talk about. Their whole future lay at the end of the road. Even the King and Queen were silent, wearing peasant clothes with their crowns stored under their seats.

The only distraction was Waverly, who clearly wasn't sensing the tension and demanded to be played with. They took turns with her, holding her and playing horsey. The only one who couldn't hold her properly was Grezzik, so Molly sat next to him, holding Waverly up as Grezzik made funny faces with her.

Despite their best efforts, they didn't reach the capital until just after dusk. Ireni returned Grezzik's strength, and they parked the carriage at the edge of town.

"Won't people think it's sort of odd, this carriage coming in?" Molly asked.

"I don't believe so," King Lotharon said. "There are a lot of travellers in the Capital, especially since the 500th.  I'm surprised we've found a place to stay."

Grezzik rubbed his arms. "I'll go tend to the horses and get food. Does anyone want anything in particular?"

"No alcohol," Molly said firmly. She'd been sober for months now, but the smell of it still made her wince. "We need to keep alert."

"There's a traveller's store in the main Square," Ireni said. "I've been to it before. Just buy traveller packs for everyone."

"Maybe I should go instead," Kate offered. "I'm not as....recognizable."

“I’ll stay with you, Grezzik,” Sally said, picking up a sleeping Waverly. “I need to stretch my legs.” 

Grezzik nodded, and the two of them left. The King and Queen were lying down together, and they’d somehow managed to fall asleep.

"We need to strategize," Molly realized after a moment. "There needs to be a plan."

Ireni lolled back. “I don’t know if we need to, really. We get in, and most of us will cause a distraction. Sally and the King will go to the Throne Room, and you should guard them on the way there.”

“Me?”

“Of course you. Who else would know enough to protect them? You’ve always been a brilliant fighter, Ma—Molly. Still getting used to that.”

“That’s alright, I’m still getting used to you.”

“How do you mean?”

“Being not—well, being not horrible all the time.”

“I did a lot of that, didn’t I?” Ireni’s lovely brow creased. “It’s easier for me, you see. I don’t feel when I screw up, and if I’m tired or cranky I do what’s easy. I realize now that wasn’t fair.”

“At least you know now. Will you stop?”

“I can try. Is that your favour?”

Molly groaned. “I told you, I don’t need anything.”

“Need isn’t always the same as want, Molly. Is there anything you want?” Ireni’s eyes were serious. “I do want to give you something, you know. And we are going into battle tonight.”

Molly bit her lip. “There is…there is something. But I don’t know if it’s even possible.”

“Go ahead and ask. More’s possible than you think.”

“I want to marry Janine.”

There was a pause.

“I don’t think you need my help with that—”

“I wasn’t finished,” Molly interrupted. “I know she loves me, and that I love her. But she wants—and she needs—a child. Guilder doesn’t have a Carrier right now, and I was wondering…”

“Of course!” Ireni clapped her hands. “Yes, that’s perfectly possible. There are a few different ways to do that, but the simplest is a potion. Do you have any preference as to who is the sire?”

Molly’s head spun. Was it truly that easy? “I don’t know. I’m alright with being pregnant, but so is Janine.”

“Then I’ll give you the Potion and explain it all, and then you can decide. I can give you a few batches, so you can have as many as you like.”

“Thank you, Ireni.” Molly hesitated. “How much control do you have over the child?”

“That depends on what you’re controlling. I can ensure that the child will be healthy, but other parts need more time. What are you thinking?”

“Can you make sure they don’t have a taste for drink?” Molly asked.

Ireni took her hand. “I promise,” she said sincerely. “No matter how many you have.”

“Thank you.”

They fell silent then. The only sound in the caravan were the sounds of the King and Queen snoring quietly.

“You know what’s interesting about you and Grezzik?” Ireni said. “You were the ones who had to work for me, to put up with all that nonsense and all that risk, yet you are determined to give your favours to someone else.”

“That’s how it is when you love people, Ireni,” Molly said. “It makes you happy when they’re happy, when you can give them things.”

Ireni considered that. “I suppose I’m…happy now. That you’re happy. But I don’t really love you. I don’t think, at least.”

“That’s a start,” Molly said. “Or it could be the end. You know, you don’t have to learn to love people to be kind. I didn’t love anyone but my father for most of my life, but I knew how to be kind from my father.”

“I could give that a try,” Ireni said. “The idea of being kind has never really appealed to me, but then again…people can change.”

There was a knock on the door of the carriage, and Molly looked at Ireni. The others wouldn’t knock.

Molly gripped her sword tightly, ready to pounce (and wishing there was more room to swing it), and she threw the door open.

A woman clad in a cape, the hood falling over her face, stood outside.

“Who are you?” Molly snapped.

The woman threw her hood back.

“Love, I thought you would know me anywhere,” Janine said, smiling brightly. 

“Janine?” Molly hissed. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“We found out about the spy,” Janine replied.

“Spy?”

“One of my guards—well, I suppose he was one of Moran’s guards, really. The second we heard that, we knew we’d have to act fast.” Janine gestured behind her, and Molly saw several cloaked figures.

“How did you get through the town looking like that?”

Janine looked insulted. “We’re pretending to be worshippers of the Lady of Spring! She is my patron, after all.”

“In…in summer?”

“Spring is eternal in our hearts,” Janine retorted, making a fist above her heart. “Besides, we needed cloaks. We’ve got quite a few dignitaries among us.”

The figures behind Janine removed their hoods, and Molly recognized Queen Chessa and Prince Sukiv, along with Miracle Max and Martha.

“Savira and Mycroft are directing troops from London,” Janine continued. “Everyone’s calling their banners, at least our allies are. They’ve been coming in all day.”

“That’s why the place is so crowded,” Molly realized.

“We don’t need to be quite so subtle now; speed is of the essence. So we came by ship and disguised ourselves only so we could get through without spies knowing for sure that—”

“That members of three different royal families were here?” Ireni rolled her eyes. “This isn’t the most wise, Princess.”

“Maybe not, but we’re here now.” Janine took Molly’s hand. “We saw the horses and recognized the disguise. And now here we are! Where is Sally?”

“Right here.” Sally came around the carriage with Grezzik at her side. “Kate’s in the village, getting food. It’s good to see you, Princess.”

“I’m glad to see you too, Princess.” Janine curtsied somehow, in a billowing cloak.

Molly loved this woman.

“You’ve been confirmed, I take it?” Queen Chessa asked.

“She has indeed.”

Molly turned her head to see King Lotharon standing up. He came towards her, and Molly moved aside. Gone was the relaxed King of the summer palace, and gone too was the feeble-in-mind-and-body old man she’d glimpsed before they kidnapped Sherlock. This man was a King, with his wits about him and his duty on his mind, a twilight years ruler ready to serve.

“Your Majesty,” Janine said, and she curtsied deeply. 

“Greetings, Princess Janine. I thank you for sheltering my daughter and grandchild. Greetings, Queen Chessa and Prince Sukiv. I owe you thanks for your support.”

“Happy to help,” Queen Chessa said. “My granddaughter was at risk.”

“And I don’t like Jamiarty,” Sukiv growled. “It’s good to see there was a reason.”

King Lotharon nodded. The grief he’d shown earlier that day was gone, replaced by calm certainty. “How many troops have you? This is not an assault on the Castle, I hope.”

“Not at all.” Chessa’s teeth gleamed in the torchlight. “We want a safe escort for the new Princess. If there is to be fighting…we will not start it. Is that sufficient.”

“It is.” The King broke into a smile. “Miracle Max! Martha! It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“You’re looking well, your Majesty,” Max said politely.

“No thanks to Jamiarty.” That was Queen Bella’s voice. She’d clearly just awoken, but she looked as regal as her husband. “The poison was slow-acting and mimicked true illness, and it was hidden by Riley’s magic. You bear no responsibility for that.”

Miracle Max swore. Molly raised her eyebrows. She’d never heard that one before.

“Max!” Martha tapped his arm. “Be polite.”

“So…” Ireni looked around. “I’m glad we all know each other, but did you say _spy?!_ What about Sherlock and John and Anderson? They’ve been here since yesterday evening!”

That made everyone shut up. Sally swayed.

“The only news people said in the village was about the Festival in a few days time,” Katie said. “And I spoke to the head of the Gossips. He hadn’t noticed anything.”

“Jamiarty wouldn’t be able to keep their capture quiet,” Molly said decisively. “He is a proud man, always ready with a lie. He would have announced the joyous return of the Princess.”

 “Then they’re safe…but where are they?”

“If they’re smart, they’ll stay quiet,” Ireni said. “Now I know we’ve all slept on different kinds of beds, but right now we need to work together and plan a distraction. What is the best way into the Heir room, your Majesty?”

The next few minutes had so many people talking Molly slipped out of the carriage. She would do her part when the time came, and there was no point in her volunteering ideas. That was never her strong suit.

 Janine joined her, and pressed their hands together.

“I’ve missed you.”

“It’s been less than two days, Jani.”

“I know.” Janine kissed her cheek. “I suppose those ten years were long enough for me.”

“For me too,” Molly admitted.

“And now?”

Molly swallowed, remembering Ireni’s promise. “Now I suppose…we should try not to be apart.”

Grezzik poked his head out of the carriage. “Come and get your food. We have a plan.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise, Molly Montoya,” Janine whispered as they went in.

* * *

 

It was a simple plan—just the way Molly liked it.

“I’ll create some magical distractions within the Castle grounds,” Ireni explained. “Chessa, Sukiv and the Hudsons will stay here to keep the villagers from coming to the Castle.”

“The Hudsons?”

Miracle Max sighed. “Myself and Martha. That’s our last name.”

“Meanwhile, Molly, you and Grezzik will run with Sally and the King to the Heir place. Try to avoid fatalities if you can, you’re good at that. Queen Bella will stay here with Waverly, to make sure that she’s safe.”

“When do we start?” Molly asked.

“As soon as I get over the walls,” Ireni replied. She exited the carriage, took a quick look around, and started to shift into a bird. She was wearing a blue dress the time, and the giant blue wings were almost invisible in the growing darkness. She nodded at them, and took off, sailing towards the Castle.

“Marvellous,” the King breathed.

Molly looked at Grezzik. “You’ll carry the King.”

“You stay with Sally,” Grezzik answered.

Molly grinned, her sword ready in her hand. It felt like old times for a moment, the good days when the Sicilian Crowd had missions they cared about and a target to take down.

They were going to win.

Just as Grezzik settled the King in his arms, there was an explosion of light, coming from beyond the wall. Molly heard shouts from the closest house, and Sukiv and Chessa ran out of the carriage, followed by Miracle Max and Martha.

Sally was already running for the palace gates, and Molly was right at her side. The lights were going off, one after the other, and Molly waited for the alarm bells to start ringing.

Only that’s not what happened next.

What happened next was an absolute roar of human voices, yelling and screaming, and it was coming from the Castle.

Molly almost stopped in her tracks, and Sally did.

“What the hell?”

But Molly threw her head back and laughed. “I think that’s what happens when you leave the Dread Pirate Roberts and his husband alone for two days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was a long one :)   
> Sorry it's up kinda late in the day, but...I'm done my Master's! NO MORE HOMEWORK EVER AGAIN, SO MUCH MORE TIME FOR WRITING.   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	21. To Name an Heir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John makes plans, and Sally makes promises.

Molly was right, though she had no idea how right.

**Early that Morning (So early it was just barely morning)**

John had settled his nerves by the time they got to the clearing. The Count was gone, and there was no screaming, so the Machine wasn’t in use.

            There were two guards standing by the trees.

            “Which one do we talk to?” John hissed to Anderson.

            Anderson shocked him by stepping out. “Hello, lads,” he called.

            The two guards looked up in surprise. “Fucking spy,” one of them snarled.

            “Such a joy, as always, Bob,” Anderson replied. “And Dimmock? How’s your brother?”

            The other guard looked more nervous in the pre-dawn light. “Fine.”

            “I want to rescue the Carriers,” Anderson said. “Any chance you’d help me out with that?”

            The one he’d called Bob launched himself at Anderson, but Anderson took one step forward and knocked Bob flat. The guard groaned on the ground.

            “Dimmock?” Anderson asked.

            Dimmock gulped. “Alright. But you—if Jamiarty—”

            “You’re speaking to the future Prince Consort,” John interrupted. He let a smile show. “There’s no need to worry about Jamiarty anymore.”

            Dimmock couldn’t speak anymore. He just nodded and leaned on a knot in the tree. An entire section of the tree swung inwards.

            John went in first, worried that evidence of his torture might have been left behind. The last thing he wanted was for Sherlock to see that.

            **A quick note about the Pit of Despair. It was the fifth floor of the Zoo of Death, empty because it was set aside for Jamiarty’s greatest enemy. John was the only one who’d ever been held in there. An excellent guide to the Zoo of Death may be found in _The Princess Bride,_ a wild retelling of this story by William Goldman. His characters spend more time in the rest of the Zoo of Death, but John, Sherlock, and Anderson don’t have time for sight-seeing. **

Luckily, the Pit was clean. Even the Machine was gone. It was hardly empty though, with nineteen Female carriers staring up at him. They were all chained to tables. One of them was bleeding.

            John swallowed a wave of nausea, and put up his hands. “I’m here to help you,” he promised. “My name is John.”

            The Carriers didn’t respond.

            “I’m with Princess Sherlock and Philip Anderson, husband of Sally Donovan. We represent her interests.”

            “Lies.” The hoarse voice belonged to the wounded Carrier. There were shallow cuts covering every inch of bare skin, her dress in rags. “Sally is nothing. Why would she need anything? Who represents a common whore?”

            “She is no whore!” Anderson snarled. “None of you are whores.”

            “You do not decide that. Only the Prince decides our names. And so we are whores.” The woman closed her eyes. “You are a liar, and you will hear nothing from me but the words of a common whore, and what are they worth?”

            “Your daughter is buried here,” Sherlock said.

            A shudder went through every Carrier. The bleeding woman stared at Sherlock. “What did you say?”

            “You already know it. And so does Jamiarty. That’s why your table is so much farther away from the others. He placed you there on purpose, didn’t he? To torture you even more. You are Carla’s mother.”

            At the name, the bleeding woman closed her eyes.

            John stepped forward, but her eyes were open again, wild with a grief John would never understand. “What do you want from me, Princess?! You want your revenge on Jamiarty for your beloved?”

            “I am his beloved,” John answered, and he moved closer. “I know this room. I was here. I was tied to that same table, in that same place. We speak the truth. We know that Sally is the King’s daughter. And we know that Jamiarty murdered your daughter. He told you that tonight, didn’t he? He probably thought that would make you speak, that the pain would loosen your tongue. But he doesn’t really understand how love works, does he?”

            The woman didn’t answer.

            “I know he told you what he wanted to know. He wants to know who Sally’s mother is, and kill her. He has no idea that she’s dead, and you weren’t going to tell him. So he’s waiting for you to bleed more. To hear the voices of the past, and maybe that will make you speak. You have other children, Cerise. He knows you want to live.”

            “Were you here today?” Cerise asked hoarsely.

            “Not to hear this. But I  know his style. He’s not as effective as the Count once was, but he learned some tricks.” John had to stop for a moment, to collect his thoughts, to stop his mind from running screaming into the darkness of the past.

            Sherlock took his hand. It helped.

            “Sally is on her way,” John said, hoping it was true, hoping it was fine. “I know the monster Jamiarty is. And I know that you have lost your daughter to this man, and you know too. We’re going to protect you no matter what, but will you help us help Sally take the throne?”

            There was a moment of silence.

            “Let me loose,” Cerise said. “I want to see my niece crowned.”

            It only took a few moments to get the other Carriers loose.

            “Should we stay here until the others come?” John asked. It was almost dawn, and he knew there was no chance before sunset, and that there would be a signal.

            “I think we might have some other things to do,” Anderson said. He looked thoughtful. “You know, the executioner didn’t put up a lot of resistance. She actually let me put her to sleep. She doesn’t like Jamiarty either. And she might not be alone.”

            Sherlock grinned. “I like the way you think, Anderson. I’m assuming your spies within the castle could help too?”

            “We can’t draw too much attention,” John cautioned. “It’ll move Jamiarty too quickly.”

            “But he’s already moving quickly. He thinks that we’re here, and he knows the Carriers are part of it. This is a trap.”

            “Then why the hell isn’t he here?”

            “Because he’s a fucking coward,” Sherlock replied. “He’ll wait for us to be helpless. That’s why he booby-trapped the door to lock behind anyone who entered.”

            “ _What?!”_

“Don’t worry, I propped it open. We’re fine, John.” Sherlock took his hand. “Now…why don’t we let the people’s voices be heard?”

* * *

 

            So they’d spent that day getting ready. John camped with the Carriers outside, tending to Cerise’s wounds and watching the door. If Jamiarty was going to come during the day, they needed to be ready.

            Luckily, Anderson’s spies worked quickly, and they spread out across the castle, asking Jamiarty’s advice on a hundred little tasks. It must have been fun, because Sherlock was grinning when he rejoined John at sunset.

            “Should we go and see if the others are here?” John asked.

            “I don’t think so. If they’re here, then we’ll hear from them. And if not…”

            “We’ve riled an entire castle full of people for no good reason?”

            “Not at all. It’ll be much easier for Sally to walk in if we just take out Jamiarty tonight.”

            “You’re not serious.”

            “Deadly.”

            John looked over at his husband. There was no mirth in Sherlock’s eyes, and his jaw was clenched tight.

            “You can’t mean that, love. We can’t kill him.”

            “He killed you.”

            “He only tried. And he tried to kill you too, you know.”

            Sherlock sniffed. “The fact that he thought that would work is insulting.”

            “Sher, listen to me.” John cradled that dear face in his hands. “I love you so much. You know that. And I hate Jamiarty almost as much. But the love eclipses the hate with no question. And I want a future with you, with our family, where we can be free of his influence. If he dies, we’ll never hear the end of him.”

            “I know.” Sherlock’s eyes were closed. “Believe me John, I know. I just want this to be over.”

            “It will be. But we’re going to do it right, Sherlock.”

A shower of light shot across the sky.

“Here comes the beginning of the end,” John muttered. “Come on love, here we go.”

Sherlock let out a loud cry as they leapt forward, and Anderson's answering yell was quickly followed by an almighty roar of people, so loud John stopped in his tracks.

            Then he smiled. “Prince Philip and Princess Sally!” he shouted.

            And they ran towards the palace.

* * *

 

            Sally hadn’t run since before she was pregnant.

            Labour had taken a major toll on her body, and she still felt the soreness. Walking was getting easier, but she was reminded of her daughter with every step.

            Now she ran, and there was more than Waverly in her mind. With every blast of pain she saw something new—her childhood where she never knew her father, an empty grave, the pain in her father’s eyes, and her people. All her people, suffering under a murderous Prince.

            The pain became an impetus, and Sally kept pace with Molly.

            There were dozens of people in the main hall, so many that Sally recognized as the regular backdrop of faces around the castle. Servants, knights, even lord and ladies ran through the halls.

            “Sally!”

            It was Cerise. Sally didn’t stop—couldn’t stop—but she didn’t have to. Her aunt’s arms were swathed in bandages, but there was fire in her eyes.

            “Get to the throne room!” Cerise barked. “Go, niece!”

            And Sally ran. The group of people parted, holding back the few guards who were trying to get to them. One strong one knocked a lord to the ground and made for Sally, but Molly’s sword flashed and he retreated, howling.

            The throne room was empty, and Sally nearly fell to her knees in relief. But she couldn’t stop yet.

            Molly stayed in the doorway. “No one’s coming in,” she said. “Your Highness, where are the robes?”

            Grezzik set King Lotharon down gently by the throne, and Sally stopped beside him, trembling.

            “In the altar chest,” the King replied. “Over there.”

            Grezzik went to the ornate chest in front of an altar to the Powers, and pulled out an enormous bundle of robes. For the first time Sally felt doubt. Could she wear all of those? Could they even put them all on in time? And the other burdens—her dead mother, her murdered half-sister. She shouldn’t even be here to do this.

            Did she even deserve to take the throne?

            “Sally!”

            Sally whirled. It was Philip; Molly stepped aside to let him by. His eyes were shining as he looked at her, and he bowed. “Do it, love,” he called. “You can.”

            Sally faced her father. “Do I…do I kneel?” She wasn’t there when Jamiarty was made Heir, and had only heard stories of how this ceremony went.

            Her father chuckled. “No, child. You might have to bend slightly. You get your height from your mother.”

            For a second Sally felt at ease, and the noises of combat fell away outside. This was her father, the King she’d known all her life. He had calm even in this moment, so she could find it too.

            “Yes, Father.”

            King Lotharon took the first robe off the pile. It was blue silk, shimmering in the candlelight. “As ruler you must be like the water. You must give your subjects life and sustenance, and give them the chance to explore the world. Do you accept?”

            “I accept.”

            The robe was so light Sally feared it would slip from her shoulders, so she held onto the ties.

            The next robe was deep green, embroidered with plants and trees. “As ruler you must be like the forest. You must give shelter to your people, give them security and tools, and provide peace of mind. Do you accept?”

            “I accept.”

            That robe was heavier, and it stayed in place without holding. Sally relaxed her grip.

            “NO!”

            Sally’s head snapped up. Jamiarty was in the room now (where did he come from, had he been waiting?) He stood with a sword, and there was a madness in his face Sally had never seen.

            “Don’t you dare!” he screamed. “You cannot do this!”

            “You are wrong, my son.” King Lotharon's voice shook. “I can. And so can your sister.”

            Jamiarty lunged for them, but Molly was there, and she stopped his blade with hers. Jamiarty fought back with a snarl.

            The King’s voice shook, but he lifted the next robe. This one had stones attached—plain, ordinary stones. “As ruler, you must be like stone. You must defend your people, you must be strong and resist being worn down. You are the foundation of the kingdom. Do you accept?”

            “I accept.”

            Jamiarty and Molly were still duelling. Sally heard running footsteps just outside the door, and panicked—Molly wasn’t there to block the door—but it was Sherlock and John, dashing into the room. John stayed at the door, and Sherlock ran for Jamiarty.

            And just like that, Sally stopped being afraid.

            The King looked more hopeful too. He needed Grezzik’s help to lift the next robe, and Sally blinked in shock. It looked like thin metal, silver with veins of gold woven through it.

            “As ruler, you need to be the sword of your people. You must fight with voice and might and heart for your country, always taking the option of least harm. Your people should feel safe with you upon the throne.” The last part was said much louder. Sherlock and Jamiarty were circling each other, trading blows in almost perfect silence, but Jamiarty’s eyes still flickered over to the throne.

            “Do you accept?”

            “I accept,” Sally said. She let out a gasp as the robe settled onto her, making her knees buckle. But she stayed upright, swaying only a little, and she looked her father in the eye.

            The last robe was huge—it could have fit Grezzik without trouble. It was bright as the dawn, with oranges, reds and yellows competing for attention. It sparkled, and Sally realized that it was made entirely of jewels—rubies, topazes, amber, and others she didn’t recognize.

            “As a ruler, you keep the flame of your country. You must hold the lives of your people with gentleness and love, you must be fierce in justice and warm in mercy, and you must hold the torch to pass it down one day. Do you accept?”

            “I accept.”

            The robe was heavier than any of them, even than the metal one. Sally did stumble.

            So did Jamiarty. He went down, and Sherlock let out a triumphant cry that sent a shudder through Sally. She spared a quick look at her half-brother, saw him securely pinned by Sherlock, and bowed her head to her father.

            “Do you, Sally, accept the responsibilities and privileges of being the Heir?”

            “I do.”

            “Then carry your burden.”

            Sally began to walk around the throne. She had to be careful not to trip, careful to stay upright, careful not to let the water robe slip…

            But she made it around the throne, ignoring Jamiarty’s shouts, one foot in front of the other. Her shoulders were bowed with the weight, but her head was held high.

            She accepted these burdens, knew there would be weight and trouble, knew the grief of the past would be part of her, but there would also be joy and a chance to do some real good for her country.

            For her people.

            And when she sat on the throne, the weight was nothing.

* * *

 

            Sherlock saw John kneel in front of him, and grinned. It was all he could do to hold Jamiarty down; the Prince was straining with all his force. John put his hands over Sherlock’s, and the pressure eased.

            Jamiarty was beyond speech, his eyes inflamed with madness. The way he looked at Sherlock almost made him shiver, but John’s hands were over his, and that was all that mattered.

            “Hello Jamiarty,” John said. “Looks like we trapped you after all.”

            It was John who’d realized that Jamiarty would be in the throne room. They’d run there right after making sure Cerise was safe (not that she needed help, she was running through the halls, her bandaged arms more than capable of holding two pikes). Then it was a simple matter of waiting for Jamiarty to reveal himself. The throne room had at least eighteen different hiding places, and most of them had exits out of the room.

            When facing a coward, you had to make sure he wasn't able to run.

            “I will end you,” Jamiarty snarled. “End you both.”

            “You’ve already tried that with both of us,” Sherlock said. “And yet we’re here. Forgive us if we aren’t terrified.”

            “Is my brother secure?”

            Sherlock looked up. Sally wasn’t wearing her robes anymore, she was still wearing a plain travelling dress. But she stood taller now, her shoulders back, and some of the worry was gone from her face. Her father stood beside her; there was a terrible sadness in his face when he looked at Jamiarty.

            “He’s not going anywhere,” John promised, leaning harder on Jamiarty’s wrists. “What do you want to do with him, your Highness?”

            Sally looked at her father. “I think Stam should bring him to the dungeon, Father. He can stay there until we can hold a trial.”

            “Wise, daughter.” The King shook his head. “Take him from my sight.”

            “I’m your son!” Jamiarty spat as John dragged him to his feet.

            “I know.” The King looked him in the eyes. “And you killed my daughter.”

            Jamiarty looked so shocked John almost felt bad for him. “How do you—” He fell silent.

            Guards came into the throne room. They stopped when they saw the King and Sally with Jamiarty.

            “Your Highness?”

            “Ah, Ronald. Please take the prisoner to the dungeon. He will be guarded by Miracle Max, who I believe will arrive shortly with my wife. Tell everyone to stand down. We have a new Heir, and she and her family are tired. We all need sleep.”

            And it was that simple. That was the one part of being the Dread Pirate Roberts John actually missed; the instinctive way people followed the orders of their leaders. It was clear from the near instantaneous clear up that the inhabitants of the castle loved their King as much as they hated their Prince. A few protested, and they were put in the dungeons as well, but everyone else pitched in to clean up the mess, tend to the wounded, and took themselves off to bed without a murmur.

            This time, John was alright with following orders. Sherlock looked half-dead on his feet, and they both needed some quiet.

            “We’ll meet in the morning,” Grezzik told them. “Mycroft and the others will be here by then.”

            John nodded. “Come on love,” he told Sherlock. “Where’s the quietest place to sleep?”

            He’d been expecting a tall tower, but instead Sherlock led him to a small room not far from the library. The room was stuffed with blankets and pillows of all sort, and there was a wondrous smell in the air.

            “One of the linen closets for guests,” Sherlock explained. “They hang those bunches of herbs to make everything smell nice.”

            If he’d been any less tired, John would have inspected the herb bunches, because he didn’t recognize some of the smells. He was that tired, though, so instead he led Sherlock over to the nearest soft pile and sank down onto it. Two days without sleep and heavy work and worry were taking their toll, and he could hardly keep his eyes open. But he managed to say one thing before he fell asleep.

            “It’s over now, Sherlock.”


	22. Death and Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamiarty goes on trial, and Molly has a question to ask Janine.

            Molly thought the same thing when she fell asleep next to Janine. But the next morning she woke up to see Stam looking down at them, and knew there was more to be done.

            “What’s wrong?” Molly asked.

            “Most of the countries we sent word to have recognized Sally becoming the Heir,” Stam answered.

            “But not all.”

            “No. A few are suspicious of a coup, and others…well, even someone like Jamiarty manages to have supporters. So we’ve decided to move the trial up.”

            “How soon?”

            “As soon as you get dressed. You both need to be there.”

* * *

 

            Molly had never been to a trial before. She probably should have been, but Ireni always got them out of any scrapes.

            This one must be different, though. After all, it was the trial of a Prince.

            The large room was crowded with people. Molly spotted Grezzik and Ireni, and moved to stand with them. Janine tapped her arm.

            “I’ve got to sit with the other royal delegates. Stay here, will you?”

            “I will.”

            Molly watched Janine walk to a large, ornate table. King Lotharon and Queen Bella were sitting there, with Queen Chessa, Sukiv, and Savira. Sally was sitting there too, crowned with a simple gold coronet. Anderson sat next to her, with Waverly in his arms. There were bannermen in the court from Prumpt, and Nepce, but their leaders weren’t there.

            Across from that fancy table was a plain wooden table, and Jamiarty was chained to it.

            There were chains attached to each wrist, and chains attached to a collar around his neck. There were chains at his ankles too, and his knees were attached to the chair by rope. Stam stood next to him with a knife.

            Molly shuddered. She’d fight like an animal if she was chained like that, but Jamiarty was completely still. In fact, he looked bored.

            The King raised his hand, and the room fell silent.

            “Prince Jamiarty of Florin, you are charged with the murder of Carla, daughter of the King. You are further charged with treason, and the attempted murder of the King, and his Heir, Sally, Princess of Florin.”

            “I deny these charges,” Jamiarty answered. He sounded just as bored as he looked. “Any action I took last night, Father, was on false information. I had heard from a reliable source that the Carrier whore was going to stage a coup. It seems as though it was true.”

            “I made Sally my Heir because she is a more suitable ruler,” the King answered. “Even without the charges against you.”

            “Well, let’s get on with it, then.” Jamiarty rolled his eyes.

            “Where are John and Sherlock?” Molly hissed.

            “Getting the last bit of evidence,” Grezzik murmured back. “Now shush.”

            “The Crown calls its first witness,” the King said. “Myself.” He stood up and, amidst the muttering of the crowd, sat in a chair in the no-man’s-land between the royals and the prisoner. “My name is Lotharon, King of Florin. After my first wife died I became despondent. I laid with a member of the Carrier family, Cerise Donovan. She bore me a child, who I named Carla. Three years later, I wanted another child, but Cerise wanted to wed within the Carriers. I agreed to this, and laid with her sister instead, Abigail Donovan. She bore me Sally Donovan, but sadly died in childbirth. When Carla was seven, she went on a trip with myself and Prince Jamiarty. Jamiarty knew that Carla was his sister, though I never made it clear whether she could inherit.”       

            “Could she?” That was Mycroft.

            “Yes. She had royal blood, and could inherit should something happen to both myself and Jamiarty.” The King bowed his head. “On that trip, she fell ill and died suddenly. It seemed like the Cough that was going around at the time.”

            “Why was your daughter not buried in the royal crypt?”

            Molly stopped listening. She knew this part of the story well enough. She craned her neck, watching the people instead. A few of the lords and ladies were looking nervous. _Jamiarty’s lot, probably._

            There was still no sign of Sherlock and John.

            When she turned her attention back to the stage, King Lotharon was sitting. Cerise, who Molly had met the night before, stood on the stage. Her arms were still swathed in bandages, and she looked exhausted, but she looked at Jamiarty with a fiery, powerful hatred.

            “You murdered my daughter, and tried to murder my niece.”

            “I deny it. Your daughter’s death was sad, I suppose, but she was sick.”

            “That isn’t what you said two days ago, your Highness.” With one quick movement Cerise ripped off her bandages. The crowd gasped—there were deep cuts up and down the woman’s arms. Some were still bleeding. “When you were cutting me, trying to make me tell you who carried Sally, you told me I was just above my daughter. That you’d taken her from her beautiful grave and stuffed her into a pit. _Your blood will fall on your blood,_ that’s what you said.”

            “You’re lying!”

            “No, she’s not.”

            Molly turned. Sherlock and John were standing at the door. The crowd parted to let them through. Sherlock was carrying a bracelet in his hand, and Cerise covered her mouth with her hands.

            “We went digging in the Pit of Despair,” John told Jamiarty. There was no humour in his voice, only a cold, grim anger. “We found the remains of a human child, and this bracelet.”

            “It was Carla’s,” Cerise moaned. She knelt and grabbed the bracelet from Sherlock. “ _Carla!”_

            It was perfectly silent in the hall, except for Cerise’s muffled sobs.

            “I can attest to the poison.” Sebastian Moran of all people, walked towards the steps.

            Molly smiled. For the first time, she could see fear in Jamiarty’s eyes.

            “And you are?” The King asked.

            Moran bowed. “My name is Lord Sebastian Moran, Spymaster for Prince Jamiarty. I was entrusted with the Prince’s secret plan to murder Princess Sherlock of London, after which I read his book of deeds, all foul in nature. I am guilty of crimes in the Prince’s name, your Majesty. But I never thought it was treason. I never knew I was abetting the murderer of a child.”

            Jamiarty glared at his friend. “Seb—”

            “No, Jamiarty. Looks like I’ve found my limit at last.” Moran cleared his throat. “Jamiarty mentioned a poison called eliswhite. It fills the lungs with dust, causing the victim to cough and their head to burn with fever. Its telltale sign is the remarkable pallor of the skin of the victims, no matter their colour in life.”

            Cerise stared at Moran. “I wondered,” she whispered. “Carla was darker than I ever was, and I wondered why my baby was so pale in death.” She turned on Jamiarty. “ _Murderer.”_

Molly watched in horror as Jamiarty changed, as he started to fight his chains with vigor, his face stretched in a horrible grimace.

            “Was it worth it, your Highness?” Cerise advanced on Jamiarty. “Is it worth it now?”

            “It was my throne!” Jamiarty burst out. “They would never have it, never! It was mine!” Then he went still. For a long moment he was silent, and then he started to laugh, long and horrible. “Oh, I’ve done it now, haven’t I? Alright, I did it. I murdered that little bitch, and if I’d known Sally was alive, I would have killed her too. What can you do to me, really? Kill me?”

            “With your confession, we find you guilty of the charges against you.” King Lotharon stared at Sherlock and John. “Are you sure neither of you want to press additional charges?”

            “We’re fine, your Highness.” Sherlock put his arm around John. “He didn’t succeed with us, anyways.”

            “And Princess Janine? Is Guilder satisfied?”

            “We are. We see that the treason against his own country is far worse than a half-cocked war plan.” Janine had never sounded so dignified, so…regal. “The Crown of Guilder will abstain.”

            “Then your trial is complete. May the Powers witness this and grant their favor.” The King paused for a moment. “Cerise of House Donovan, have you determined a punishment for the prisoner?”

            “Yes, I have.” Cerise stood tall. Her face was tearstained as she looked at Jamiarty. “You will be kept in the Zoo of Death, from now until the end of your days. You will be in a cage, surrounded by other beasts, and you will be an example to anyone who visits there. It will no longer be a hunting preserve, but an educational one. Carla loved animals, after all. Anyone who aided you will join you there, chained without magic.”

            Jamiarty's boredom had disappeared, and his eyes darted wildly between Cerise and his father. “You can’t mean it. The punishment for a traitor is death!”

            “You could always take my suggestion,” John said mildly. “To the pain is still an option.”

            “I demand to be treated properly! I am a Prince, and I worked against my country. I murdered members of the Royal Family. I demand my right to die!”

            “You always were a coward, Jamiarty.” King Lotharon shook his head. “You forfeited your right to die when you took your sister’s right to live. You are going to live a long, healthy life, alone with your cowardice and failure. ”                      

            Ireni stepped forward. She spoke three sharp, quick words, and Jamiarty slumped forward, unconscious.

            “Grezzik, be a dear and drag the prisoner for me? He won’t wake up from that until I let him, so no need for gentleness.”

            King Lotharon bowed his head as his son was dragged from the room. Cerise approached the table, and gave the King her hand. “Our daughter has justice now, at least.”

            “She does. And I am more sorry than I can say that it was so long in coming.”

            “Your Grace?” One of the bannermen from Prumpt stepped forward. “Do I have your leave to send word of the verdict to my King?”

            “Of course. Let the verdict go out, and news of Princess Sally’s naming as Heir go out as well.”

            There was a pause, and then the banner man removed his headdress, revealing a carefully powdered golden wig, with a tiara perched on top. “Long live the Princess, Heir by the Powers.”

            As the room echoed the chant, and the banner man from Nepce removed her headdress , Molly turned puzzled eyes to Janine. Her lover winked, and tapped her tiara.

            Of course. The banner carriers were actually the  leaders of the lands who doubted the claims. Smart, really.

            When the chant died down, Cerise bent her head to the King and Queen, and they whispered together for a moment. Then Queen Bella stood up. “Today we have justice for my husband’s daughter. Now we must honour her life, in the way that she would wish.”

            Cerise smiled through tears. “My daughter loved parties. Let’s throw one!”

* * *

 

            Molly had never seen a room transform from a trial for child murder to a party quite so quickly. Gone was the prisoner’s chair, the witness chair, the table for the royals, gone was the solemn crowd. The huge curtains were drawn back, revealing quite a nice big ballroom, and by the time the luncheon feast was served, there was music and everyone was dancing.

            At first Molly looked for Ireni (force of habit), but Grezzik assured her that Ireni was fine.

            “She’s upstairs with that nice guard Kate. They’re watching Jamiarty and Moran. Enjoy yourself, Molly.” Then he waltzed off—with Duke Mycroft, of all people!

            So Molly went to look for Janine instead, stepping around Sherlock and John waltzing together, stopping only to give Waverly a kiss and Sally and Philip a proper curtsy.

            When she found Janine, it felt like the room became empty. And as she took her lover’s hands, the same song started to play, the same one from ten years earlier.

            “How did they know to play this one?” Molly asked, her feet remembering the steps as her mind was distracted.

            “It’s a common love song in Guilder,” Janine explained. “It sounds like they’re playing something from every country.”

            “Oh.” Molly pulled Janine close. She didn’t really care if it was a common song. She was a commoner, after all, and being in love with a beautiful Princess couldn’t quite change that.

            “I haven’t listened to it since our first dance,” Janine said. “I couldn’t bear to hear it. And now that you’re back…I’m worried you’ll go away.”

            Molly kissed her tumbling hair. “You will have to send me away, _mi tesoro_. I promise you that.”

            “Shouldn’t you ask me something first?”

            “Ask you?”

            Janine stared at her until Molly huffed.

            “Who told you?”

            “No one told me, dear one. I know your promises matter to you deeply, so I know what’s in your mind. But I would still like to be asked properly.”

            Molly hesitated. “You are a Princess. And I am a commoner.”

            “You aren’t my subject, Molly. Now ask.”

            Molly smiled, her doubts gone, and she knelt with Janine’s hands in hers. “One day, our children will ask for our story. And we will tell them that we loved at the wrong time once, and then found each other again when it was right. And we will tell them that you asked me to ask you for your hand. And they may call us foolish.” Molly let go just long enough to take the box from her belt. Inside was a simple beaded bracelet, one she’d carried for ten years. She’d bought it in Guilder just before she left, hoping she could use it one day.

            “But I will tell them that we both hate waiting. Janine, may I have your hand in marriage?”

            The bracelet fit perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoever can solve the (really very simple) anagrams of the countries wins a 'smart award'.   
> The epilogue will be posted on Monday!   
> Cheers,  
> Acme


	23. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for someone's tenth birthday, and what birthday is complete without a story?

            “Waverly? It’s time to get up, Keed.”

            Waverly blinked awake, and broke into a smile. “Shade!”

            Grezzik picked her up and held her. “Happy birthday, Waverly.”

            “When did you get here?”

            “Just before dawn. I didn’t want to miss a moment. Uncle Mycroft will be here for breakfast.”

            Waverly snuggled into Grezzik, delighted that her guardian was there. He lived in London, which was only a day’s journey, but he was also the Duke’s husband, in charge of law-keeping there. He came as often as he could, but Waverly still missed him. Anyways, her tenth birthday wouldn’t be the same without him.

            “Are Mama and Papa awake yet?”      

            “I believe they’re still asleep. Little Carla was awake half the night.”

            “Oh no! Is she better now?”

            “Sleeping in her crib. Not a problem.”

            Carla was the latest of Waverly’s siblings. There were six now—Ellie and Hela and Trevor and John and Molly. The last three had come as babies, so they were given names, but the others were adopted older. Waverly liked all of them, and she was glad that her mother didn't have to be pregnant with all of them. That would have been a long time without her being able to play.

            “Come on, Keed. Get dressed up. It’s nearly time for breakfast.”

            By the time Waverly threw on her favourite dress and got all her siblings up (they had a nurse but she was _ten_ , she could handle the little ones), Mama and Papa were awake too. Aunt Janine and Aunt Molly were there with Domingo and Ezik, and they grinned at Waverly when she came in. Uncle Mycroft was there too, and Waverly gave him a big kiss.

            “Thanks for coming, Uncle Mycroft.”

            “If we can’t have your birthday in London this year, I’m happy to make the trip.” Uncle Mycroft ruffled her hair. “Sit down, Princess, there’s plenty to eat.

            And there was. Waverly’s favourite meal was breakfast, and the cooks had pulled out all the stops for the meal. There were five different kinds of pancakes, for a start, and dishes heaped with fruit.

            “Shouldn’t we wait for Uncle Sherlock and Uncle John?” Waverly asked Papa.

            King Philip smiled. “No, sweet. They’ll be here soon, but they ate when they left this morning.”

            “Where are they coming from this time?”

            “I believe they’re returning from Regalia, aren’t they?” Uncle Mycroft asked. “John wanted to see the caves.”

            Uncle Sherlock and Uncle John were travellers, and Uncle John wrote about their travels. They always came back with amazing gifts and stories.

            Waverly knew that Uncle John used to be a pirate, and Uncle Sherlock used to be a Princess. She didn’t really understand how that had changed, or what exactly a ‘Carrier’ was—her mother used to be one, that was for sure, but she wasn’t quite sure of the purpose. Mama and Papa had said that heirs could be adopted when they became King and Queen. Grandfather agreed, and delighted in all their grandchildren, blood and adopted. Abdication agreed with him and Grandmother.

            **Waverly didn’t know that she would never marry, and her heir would be a child she adopted (not even the oldest), but there was no way for her to know that quite yet**.

            Molly and Janine’s gift was a beautiful picture Janine painted, with the sun high over a wintery day. It was framed with one of Molly’s beautiful frames, made from silver. Molly made beautiful things from metal—never swords, but almost everything else. Janine was wearing one of her necklaces, and Waverly had a small metal statue of a bird, decorated with red gems.

            “I haven’t got anything wonderful for you, Princess.”

            Waverly smiled. Ireni was her favourite tutor, because she taught Waverly how to understand people, how to lie, and just a little touch of magic.

            Ireni stood before the table and bowed. “All I have is a promise for the next full moon. I’ve got something to show you at the tallest tower.”

            “You think I’m ready?!” Waverly squealed excitedly.

            “You are. As long as Mama and Papa agree.”

            Papa rolled his eyes. “She’ll be safe?”

            “As the stars,” Ireni promised. She winked at Waverly, who giggled. She had a guess what they would do last night, and while it was safe, it would certainly make plenty of noise.

            As her brothers and sisters proudly unveiled a big sign that said HAPEE BURFDAY WAVERLEE, Uncle Sherlock and Uncle John came into the room.

            “Hello, little Princess!” Uncle John scooped her up. “Have you been good?”

            “Of course I have, Uncle John.”

            “Not too good though,” Uncle Sherlock said, tapping her nose.

            “No, Uncle Sherlock.”

            “Excellent. Then you deserve your present. We worked especially hard on it.”

            “Did you?” Waverly’s eyes lit up. Made presents from Uncle Sherlock and Uncle John were even better than brought presents.

            Uncle Sherlock took a package from his cloak. It was a rectangle, and Waverly knew what it was before she opened it.

            “A book?”

            “You’ve asked a lot of questions this year, and it’s only fair you get a chance to see the answers.”

            The book was called ‘Have Fun Storming the Castle.’

            “Is this about before I was born? All your adventures?”

            “It is. We’ve made it…somewhat child-friendly.”

            Mother shook her head. “She’s going to have nightmares.”

            “We’re all here, aren’t we? It’ll be alright, Sal.”

            Waverly chewed her lip. “What if we read it all together, right now?”

            And in less than ten minutes, everyone was cozied around the fire, with Waverly in Uncle John’s lap. Well, everyone except the little ones, who were lured away with cake and promises that they could hear the story when they were _older_.

            “I’ll start, and we’ll pass it around,” Uncle John said. He cleared his throat. _If Sherlock had been born in a rich man’s home, he would have become the cleverest man on earth…._

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this marks the end of this story, which makes me a little bit sad; it was fun to write, and fun to see everyone react, especially to cliffhangers :) If you're interested in the Supernatural fandom, I'll be starting a new story on Saturday. I will come back to Sherlock, though it'll be a few months most likely. I'm also open to writing oneshots in this verse, and who knows? I might write another story if I can figure out a good plot.   
> Thank you for reading, as always.  
> Cheers,   
> Acme


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